


Indelible

by icywind



Series: The Indelible Verse [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (past) Emotionally Abusive Relationship, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Crazy Cat Lady Bucky Barnes, Deaf Clint Barton, Families of Choice, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, How Bucky got his groove back, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, Slow Burn, gratuitous pop culture references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 10:47:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 37,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8324863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icywind/pseuds/icywind
Summary: Bucky Barnes has a pretty decent life – a good job, good friends, a cat that adores him - but something is missing. He’s always found body art to be beautiful and inspiring, and on a whim (and with the hope that maybe he can find what he’s missing) he decides to take the plunge and get a tattoo. That's how he meets Clint Barton. Clint's talented and compassionate and there is an instant spark between the two of them. It's not long before Bucky finds himself wondering and wanting more from the relationship despite the ghosts of the past that crop back up. Because Clint makes him feel normal in a way he truly hasn't for years...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost I want to thank ereshai and phae for being wonderful friends and amazing betas. You guys had to listen to me whine and angst about this fic All Summer and then beta the darn thing to boot. Word's can't express how thankful I am. You made it so much better, and I'm sorry if I made any additional errors in my post-beta-tinkering. 
> 
> Another big thanks to sperrywink for creating a totally awesome fanmix you can find [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/marvel_bang_2016/works/8286890) It's so much fun to listen to!
> 
> And thanks to cassandrasfisher for a nifty banner [here](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/marvel_bang_2016/works/8310859).
> 
> And if you will allow one more moment of indulgence, I want to dedicate this to my father. He didn't understand what I wrote (fanfiction) and never would have read this (he was a Westerns man) but I like to think he'd be proud of me for this, or in the least happy I was happy with it.

 

 

 

Bucky briefly glanced down to double check the address – yes, the brownstone in front of him was the right place. And, once he got past his initial surprise and looked more closely, there was a sign for Delta Tattoo out in front of the building. It was tasteful, almost demure, likely in deference to the homes around it. Or perhaps to the taste of the owner. 

With an internal shrug, he started up the stairs and opened the door, a bell above his head jingling as the door swept open. There was a chain rope across the stairs, blocking casual access to the second floor, and a sign directing him around the corner of the small wall to what likely at one time would've been the living room of the place. He followed the sound of music into a brightly lit and welcoming room with a couch and assorted chairs off to one side and in front of the window. The walls were covered mostly with tattoo art. He didn't know enough to be able to discern different styles all that much, but if he had to guess there were at least three different people's designs up on the walls. On the side of the room opposite what was obviously the waiting area were some small desks. And along the length of the wall opposite the doorway was a glass case filled mostly with body jewelry, but also an assortment of care products for those newly tattooed and pierced. Clever cartoon art showing proper care for tattoos and piercings also hung behind the desk. Even if the place hadn't come by recommendation from Steve, Bucky was already liking the feel of it.

An older gentleman was behind the glass case, casually flipping through a magazine, and he looked up as Bucky approached and offered a nod and a friendly customer service smile. At first blush he looked a little like an accountant – white button up, thinning hair, and mild features. The mild mannered illusion was dashed, though, as he began to roll up his shirt sleeves, revealing what Bucky was pretty sure must be full tattoo sleeves. It was a nice effect. He found himself returning the smile with ease.

“Welcome to Delta Tattoos. I'm Phil, how can I help you?”

“Phil Coulson?”

“The same.” Coulson's eyebrow ticked up just a little bit, curious.

“I'm Bucky Barnes, well, James. My friend Steve Rogers recommended the place to me.”

“Ahh – you're Steve's James.” Coulson's friendly smile returned. 

“Do you know many people who seem to have possession of Jameses?” Sam would likely jokingly bluster at that, but Bucky found it hilarious when people said he belonged to Steve. As if he wasn't the sensible mother hen in the relationship.

“You'd be surprised,” Coulson joked back with an easy chuckle that seemed to say there was a funny story in that.

Yeah. Bucky already liked this place.

“Did you have a chance to look over the online portfolios? We've got hard copies here as well.” He gestured towards the binders at the end of the counter. “If you still need to look at some more of the art.”

Bucky was distracted from replying when he heard the bell at the door go off, signaling the arrival of someone else. Interestingly, he also caught the reflection of a light going off somewhere behind him.

“Yo AC, I've got the coffee, but Tracey was out of your usual muffin so I got you carrot instead,” a dark-haired girl said, bustling into the room carrying a go-tray of coffees and bags for pastries. “Oh hey, sorry, wasn't expecting a customer already.” She flashed a quick smile at Bucky and set down the coffees on the counter before she began distributing the pastry bags onto a few of the desks. Bucky watched her for only a moment before turning back to Coulson.

“Thanks, but I'm pretty sure in my choice already. Though I wouldn't mind looking at the art while I wait. I have to admit, I'm a little early. I set up an appointment for a consult with Clint Barton.”

“Photo Realism and Illustration,” Coulson replied with a look of, well, pride. “He's an excellent choice.”

“The details in his works were amazing,” Bucky enthused as the girl finally came to a stop next to Coulson. 

“There's a reason we call him Hawkeye.” The girl winked and took a sip of her iced coffee. “And I really hope that one day Bossman here will look that pleased when someone wants my work.”

“Daisy is my apprentice,” Coulson explained.

“He doesn't let me refer to myself as a Padawan, it's a real shame,” Daisy said. 

“And years ago Clint was as well,” Phil continued, giving Daisy a fond yet vaguely exasperated look. “And I’m certain that you will make me every bit as proud as he does.” 

Daisy was chewing on the tip of her straw and smiled around it at the compliment, and Bucky felt the edges of his lips curling into a smile of his own. 

The bell and light went off again not long after Bucky had stepped aside in anticipation of another customer arriving and a man with artfully mussed dirty blonde hair strolled in. 

“Is that Tracey's I smell?” he asked, slinging a messenger bag off of a pretty impressive shoulder that led to an even more impressive bicep Bucky couldn't help but notice. He’d always had a thing for a nice pair of arms and this guy's were pretty fucking top notch. “Daisy, you're a doll,” he continued after she nodded. “And coffee too. I love you, let's get married.”

“I dunno, seems like you only love me for my coffee fetching skills.”

“Don't sell yourself short – the pastry fetching works for me too,” he grinned. 

“Didn't you propose to Natasha last week after the brownies?” Coulson teased.

“That was a hallucination on your part, Phil. A) Nat is like my sister and 2) Maria would kill me.”

Bucky couldn't hold in a chuckle any longer and that seemed to draw the newcomer’s attention. His smile widened (if that was even possible) as he turned towards Bucky. “Hey! Clint Barton. You my 11 o’clock?” He held his left hand out to shake, which Bucky wasn't sure was out of some sort of deference to him (occasionally someone made a Big Deal about being okay with his prosthetic by touching it) or if he was a lefty. More than a few people switched out at the last moment when they saw his prosthetic, but Barton didn't even blink once Bucky reached out to accept the handshake. It was a bit distracting to be subjected to the full power of his gaze. It felt a little like he was suddenly at the center of a completely new universe, holding Barton in orbit. Or was Barton the one pulling Bucky into his orbit?

“James Barnes – you can call me Bucky, though.” Barton's handshake was pleasantly firm, and Bucky couldn't help but notice some interesting calluses on his fingers – and that the pressure lingered a moment longer than might be normal for a casual greeting. 

Barton's easy smile then turned a little mischievous and he got a glint in his eye and something long dormant within Bucky sat up at took notice. It was sexy as hell. “Bucky huh? Got an interesting story to go with that nickname?”

“Sadly, not really. Full name's James Buchanan Barnes is all.”

“Parents historians or something?” Barton’s grin went decidedly flirty.

_Oh…_ Oh, under different circumstances this man could definitely be the best kind of trouble.

“Big fans of the uselessness during the Buchanan Presidency. Wanted to set the bar low for me,” Bucky joked.

“I like you,” Barton declared. “I think we're going to work well together on this tattoo of yours.” Bucky ducked his head just a little and managed to catch Coulson hiding a grin behind his coffee and Daisy doing her best to look like she wasn't paying any attention to the exchange. “Alright, so. You're a little early, but if you don't mind me scarfing down a muffin and dosing myself with some caffeine, we can start the consultation now.”

“I don't mind if you don't.”

“Great. I'll um, just...” He flicked his thumb over his shoulder towards his desk. “Oh hey – did you want anything to drink? Water? Soda? We've got a Keurig.” He made an exaggerated face and see-sawed his hands.” 

“French press,” Coulson coughed into his hand.

“I don't want to make him wait that long,” Barton replied, his voice taking on a playfully whiny note.

The interpersonal dynamics within this group were utterly fascinating to Bucky.

“Quality takes time,” Coulson said as Bucky raised his hands in mock surrender. 

“It's alright, I'm good.”

“Granola bar to snack on?” Barton asked as he gathered his messenger bag, bagged muffin, and coffee. Bucky shook his head, then chuckled and shook it again when Barton slid a bar and a bottle of water from what must have been a communal pack of each into his bag with a wink and a mouthed 'just in case.' 

Attractive, funny, and wanted to feed him? Damn.

“M'gonna use the spare room,” Barton called out to Coulson as he casually brushed past Bucky and made for the stairs.

“Clean up after yourself,” Coulson replied.

“Always do,” Barton said as he balanced his coffee and muffin bag while trying to undo the chain rope barricade. He got major points when Bucky offered to take his coffee and he still didn't blink when it was with his prosthetic hand.

“So like, please don't worry that this is a 'put the lotion in the basket' situation or anything. Phil owns the whole building. The basement and ground floor – or first if you prefer – are for the studio. He lives on the third and the second is sorta mixed use.” Barton opened the door at the top and led him inside a cozy living room.

Bucky couldn't help but glance around at the décor as he hovered next to one of the two plush chairs Barton had gestured at. There were a few pieces of art similar to the ones downstairs – bigger pieces, likely designed to hang in the room. There were also shots of what he assumed were friends and family (perhaps some fellow shop workers?) scattered on the walls and on some of the tables and mantel. Most arresting of all though, were the black and white shots of tattooed bodies. 

They were a mixture of action shots, bodies in motion with the poses showing off both the tattooed artwork and the beauty the human form was capable of, as well as more thoughtful quiet poses. A woman in ballet slippers and nothing else, finely muscled legs and feet holding her steady in an en pointe position, back arched, arms extended above her head showing off ivy and roses. A close up of two muscled arms covered in tattoos and locked into an arm wrestling pose. The curve of a woman's hip with an intricate filigree across it. And Bucky's favorite – a man's gorgeously muscled back and arms, a bow tattooed across the shoulders and the wing tips of some sort of bird of prey on his ribs that just barely peeked into the image. 

As Bucky had been scanning his surroundings, Barton had managed to pull out a notebook, pen, and laptop from his messenger bag and consume half of his muffin. 

“You know eating too fast isn't very good for you,” Bucky teased, accepting the small bottle of water Barton offered with a sheepish grin. 

“Force of habit,” Barton replied, taking a long swig from his coffee. 

There could be any number of reasons to say something like that, and Bucky only just managed to stop himself from asking why. 

“So – do you have any specific ideas for the tattoo you'd like to get? Size, location, design? Color, black and gray?” He popped another bit of muffin into his mouth and gestured for Bucky to speak at will.

Bucky took in a deep breath, then let it out in a gusty sigh. In a way he was glad for the initial flirty undertones – it put him in a better mood to share. “I'm really hoping to get a full sleeve.”

“And this is your first tattoo?”

“Yeah – first one.”

“That's quite the leap,” Barton said, scribbling down something in his notebook. 

“Yeah well, go big or go home, right?” He was glad to see Barton smiling at the joke, weak as it was. “I'm former military – Army Rangers. Had a close encounter with a roadside IED,” he gestured to his prosthetic arm. 

“It's an absolutely beautiful piece of work,” Barton said, leaning forward in his seat a moment, then suddenly pausing and looking at Bucky with chagrin. “I uh – sorry. I hope that wasn't insensitive.”

“Nah, s'alright,” Bucky replied, leaning forward as well to hold out his arm so Barton could look a little closer. His look of utmost concentration was both familiar and strange. Most people took second or third glances at the arm when they noticed it. Many even outright stared. But usually the mixture of emotions on their face was curiosity and pity, or often something worse. Barton looked curious, but it was tinged with...awe. Maybe Bucky was being a little poetic, wanting to put a good spin on the reaction of a man with a pretty face and killer smile, but there was no pity to be found. 

“Beautiful,” Barton echoed softly as he leaned back in his chair. 

Absurdly, Bucky felt himself flushing just a little bit at the word. Barton was referring to the arm – not Bucky himself. 

“It's um... It's one of a kind too, actually. It's a long story, but, I work at Stark Industries and uh...” He made a vague gesture with his right hand. Anything involving Tony Stark was sure to be a very long story, though Barton wouldn't really know that. 

“No kidding? That's awesome!” And then Barton was scooting forward in his chair eagerly and twisting to the side. “My ears are Stark Tech,” he pointed to the small, but still noticeable, inner ear hearing aids. Peaking out from behind his ear, Bucky also noticed the words 'out of order' tattooed to match the curve of his helix. “Really hoping I can convince one of the techies to bling them out a little when I get a new set again because, to my eternal consternation, with these guys - well any aids really - I'll never be able to get the daith piercing I'd rock like no one’s business.” 

“I have no idea what that means, but I bet you could,” Bucky responded, internally face-palming because really? Not smooth Barnes. Not smooth at all. Barton didn't seem to mind though, sitting back with a throaty chuckle. 

“It's the little bit of cartilage just outside the opening to the ear canal – right between the tragus,” he pointed to the flap that covered the ear from the cheek, “and the rook.” And here Bucky could see a little purple gem poking up from above where the aid nestled. “Can't do a few other piercings either, but that one...” He flapped a hand. “Nat says I'm just whining to whine, really. I think she's annoyed that I got an arrow industrial rather than a coil like she wanted to put in. My audiologist just shook her head at all of it, really.” And then he paused and smacked his forehead. “And I am so, so sorry, I really shouldn't be yapping about myself.”

“I don't mind, really,” Bucky said. It was enjoyable, actually. “I mean, my friends are all great about it usually, but-”

“None of them have disabilities?”

“Yeah,” he sighed a little. “So outside of Group I don't get a lot of, well, normal talk about it.” 

“I'd say it's all a part of the service, but,” Barton shrugged. They shared a look for a moment before Barton glanced down and away, clearing his throat. “So – you were saying about your ideas?”

“Uh yeah – I was thinking a full sleeve on the right arm. Something biomechanical looking maybe?”

“To balance out the left?” Barton said, making several notes on the paper.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I've had my therapy, and most of the time I can deal with the looks, but...”

“But you wouldn't mind giving them something else to look at?”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, grateful smile on his face as he met Barton's gaze. The look of understanding in his eyes far more than anything he had expected to get from a total stranger. There hadn't been anything online in Barton's bio that talked about his hearing loss, and Bucky found himself almost glad for it. If he'd come into this meeting expecting a certain reaction from him because they both had a disability and things hadn't panned out that way, it would have been very discouraging. Instead, it felt a lot like they were forming a very organic connection. 

It was...refreshing.

“I really... I'm pretty secure in myself, who I am, always have been. It took some time to adjust to the new arm. And I feel like I have. I mean, I have a bad day here and there; everyone does, really. But I just – I feel like getting this tattoo is a way to-” He paused and made an almost helpless gesture. It was harder to find the words than he thought it would be, and for some reason it was very important that Barton understood. “It's something I am choosing to do. A change I am making to myself because I want it.”

“Reclaiming a part of yourself?” Barton suggested, and it must have been an unconscious thought because there was a flash of panic in his expressive eyes before Bucky nodded.

“Yeah.” As soon as Barton had said it the words just felt right. It really was about trying to reclaim a part of himself. Steve had been encouraging when Bucky had brought the idea up and asked if he’d had any suggestions on where to go, but he’d also seemed a little confused and unsure as to why Bucky would want to do it. Funny how a complete stranger could phrase it so easily.

“Can I ask...how long?”

“Four, almost five years ago now.”

“A decade,” Barton gestured at his ears. His expression was suddenly a little shy as he added, “And thank you. For sharing. For asking me to do this.”

“I uh...” He paused to swallow. “Thank you. For listening,” Bucky's answering smile was more than a little shy as well. 

They were silent for a moment or two, glancing at each other briefly and both taking sips of their respective drinks. It wasn't an awkward silence though, and that was more than a little surprising. Sharing those things could have easily made the atmosphere strained, and honestly it should have. But it hadn't.

“Anyway – how similar do you want it to look to your other arm?” It seemed like it was time to get back to business.

“It doesn't really have to be similar at all. In fact, I'd love it to be more unique. And like I said before, your work I've seen is amazing so I don't want to stifle or pigeonhole you or anything. Free rein here, man. But as for general suggestions - maybe steampunk looking? I love the aesthetic,” he admitted with a shrug. “Or something a little Giger-esque? Minus the creepy ladies in the machine.” He grinned at the chuckle Barton responded with while he jotted down notes. 

“Full color or black and gray?”

“Black and gray fades more slowly, right?”

“Generally speaking, yeah. Taking care of it, both aftercare while healing and then generally keeping sun exposure limited is the best for both though, and there won't be much difference to the fading if you do. Because really, if you baby it and treat it right, even full color shouldn't fade all that much. And black and gray can be brought to another level with a touch of color too...”

“I think I'd prefer the black and gray palette, but I am more than happy to defer to your artistic judgment.” 

“Well now it just sounds like you're trying to flatter me, Barnes,” Barton drawled, as he added more notes. 

“Please, call me Bucky.” He tried not to shift as Barton's voice made his stomach squirm in the best way. 

“Bucky,” Barton nodded. “About where do you want it to start up top?”

“Ball of the shoulder or thereabouts?” He pulled his sleeve up a little and drew a line with his finger.

Barton then asked if it was okay to take a few pictures and measurements. Bucky had no problem with it, obligingly posing and turning as Barton directed. If he was more than a little hyper-aware of the points of connection when the other man's fingers brushed against his skin during the measuring, he managed to keep it to himself.

“So I'm sure you're probably curious about the time and money this will cost.”

“Time, yes. Money...well, let's just say Mr. Stark is pretty damn generous and, not at all meaning to sound like I'm bragging, I've got a comfy little chunk of play money for this. I want to pay you for your time and work, I won't try to haggle. I know it's a dick move when people try that.”

“It uh, it can be.” Barton's smile was back again. “I'm not gonna lie – if we go super detailed with this, as I think we might, it could take a while. Guesstimate offhand – at least twenty-four hours. Could be more. Probably more. We'll start out with about a two or three hour session to see how you adjust to the process and then go from there. I like doing four to six hours at a time if you can. And each appointment should be at least two weeks apart to give you time to heal in between.”

“So we're going to spend more than a little time together huh?”

“That we are.” 

Bucky figured he could live with that.

“You'll get copies of these again after the first appointment, but I like to make sure you're prepared ahead of time.” Barton dug around in his messenger bag for a folder. “These are the aftercare instructions – dos and don'ts. Supplies and whatnot. Lists of soaps and lotions and stuff. We sell them here, but, feel free to grab them up wherever you can find them ahead of time if you like.” 

They spent a few more minutes going over the details on the sheets, how Bucky should prepare himself for that first appointment (eat a good meal and bring snacks!) and then setting up both the first one and a tentative time for the second as well. Eventually, with all the details worked out that they could, they made their way back downstairs. Bucky put down a deposit for the sketches and thanked Coulson for his time earlier that day. Some of the other shop workers had arrived while he and Barton had been upstairs and he saw them glance up in interest as Barton then walked him back towards the door, giving him a card with a stylized hawk holding arrows. 

“Shop number, my work number,” he said pointing at each. Then, pulling a pen from his pocket, he scribbled a third on the bottom. “My cell. They're more important after you start getting the ink, but uh – if you need anything, you know.” He shrugged. “So uh – see you in two weeks huh?” Barton finished, offering his hand. 

“Thank you again, Mr. Barton. For everything.”

“Clint, please. Like you said, we're going to spend a lot of time together over the next few months. You can call me Clint.”

“Clint.” Bucky knew he was lingering a little long in the shake, but it felt like Barton--Clint was too. They shared one last measure of eye-contact and then Bucky was out the door.

Two weeks.

And then every two weeks for a few months. 

What the hell was he getting himself into?

 

 

~~

 

 

“My tattoo artist is hot as fuck,” Bucky complained into the phone, not even waiting for Steve to say hello.

“Oh, you poor baby,” Sam replied with a hearty laugh.

“Your sympathy in my time of need is refreshing, thank you Sam.” 

“Anything I can do to help, man.”

“You could put Steve on, Bird Brain.”

“Well, I suppose I could put Steve on. Since you did ask so nicely.” Bucky could hear some chatter in the background, but rather than Steve's voice, Sam returned to the line. “You didn't happen to get a picture of him, did you?”

“Yes, Sam. We posed for our holiday card already, you're on the list.”

“Alright, alright, here's Steve,” Sam’s chuckle carried on in the background.

“So how'd it go?” Steve sounded amused as he always did when Bucky and Sam interacted. 

“It was good. Really good.” Bucky fiddled with a pen on the desk in his home office, attracting the attention of his small gray and white tabby, Pickles, who quickly wandered away when she caught on that he hadn’t intended on playing with her when he moved it. “He was totally open and honest, gave me a fair quote from everything I can tell, was great about the arm...”

“There’s a but coming, isn't there?”

“He's fucking gorgeous, Stevie. And funny. There was some flirting.” Steve's rich laughter at that made him smile.

“Well that sounds like a pretty great problem, Buck.”

“I know.” His voice went a little quiet.

“Hey – it doesn't have to mean anything, you know that, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Flirting can just be flirting.”

“I know that, Steve.”

“And if the flirting leads to something else...”

Bucky was silent. He hadn't had a relationship since losing his arm. Well, that wasn't true. He'd had one, but it had been such a clusterfuck it was easier to pretend it hadn't happened. Easier but perhaps not healthier, he could hear his therapist say. He didn't want to dwell on what had happened with Rumlow, but he had to acknowledge that it had happened.

“You know nothing has to happen. Hell, maybe he’s just a natural flirt like you,” Steve said, voice as calm as ever. “Just – enjoy the chatting and flirting and whatever happens while you're getting the tattoo. It'll be good for you.” 

_Maybe it’ll help you connect better with other people_ went left unsaid. 

“Fury wouldn't have suggested the place if anyone there was a bad seed,” Steve reminded him. “So yeah – just go with it. Have fun.”

“I know, I know.” Steve's boss was old friends with Phil Coulson from what Bucky had been told. It was how he'd found out about Delta Tattoo after he'd decided he wanted to get ink. So he knew that no matter what, Barton – Clint had to be a decent person. Nick Fury was a hard man to impress and he'd had nothing but good things to say about the staff Coulson had pulled together. 

“You should get your ass over here for dinner. I'm making pancakes,” Sam's voice suddenly said over the phone and Bucky laughed. 

“Put blueberries into a batch and maybe I will.”

“Blueberry pancakes, he demands...” he could almost see Sam shaking his head in mock outrage.

“Or maybe chocolate chips!”

“He's throwing his hands up and claiming you're impossible,” Steve laughed as he got the phone back. 

“I know, I know. See you guys in twenty minutes?”

“Grab some milk on your way over? I think he's gonna use up the rest of ours in the batter. That's...a lotta bowls he's pulling out.”

“Okay. Love you guys.”

“We love you too, Buck.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 

Bucky took a deep fortifying breath and then opened the door to Delta Tattoo. Rounding the corner, he saw a petite redhead at the counter. She was, in a word, stunning: fiery curls framing a delicate face dotted with flashes of metal here and there. He could make out, but was careful not to stare at, the several visible tattoos winding around her arms and peeking out from the top of her tank-top. She fixed him with a brief but thorough look then nodded. 

It made him wonder if he'd passed some sort of test.

“You must be Barnes,” she said with a smile. “Natasha Romanoff.” He shook her offered hand.

“You're the piercer here, right?”

“I am,” she replied. “Clint should be ready shortly. You can have a seat if you like.” 

He nodded and eased himself into a cushy chair by the window. He thumbed through a sports magazine for a few minutes before growing bored with it and glancing back towards the desks where Coulson and Daisy were bent over a book – maybe a sketchbook? It certainly looked like Phil was offering some sort of critique or something, making a few comments as he swept his finger over an image, while Daisy nodded and offered her own comments back.

“They're going through her portfolio to work up a new flash art sheet,” Clint's voice said from his left. Bucky glanced up and couldn't help the smile that sprang forth in response to the one Clint gave him. “Good to see you again.” He offered his hand and Bucky took it with an answering, “You too.” 

They shared a moment of silence, still holding hands, before Bucky cleared his throat and glanced away, just barely catching Natasha smirking in the corner of his gaze. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been instantly attracted to someone the way he was to Clint and it made sense that he might be a little bad at hiding that attraction. Still, they were conducting a business transaction. And it wasn’t a certain thing Clint even returned the budding feelings. 

“Okay – you ready to get some ink?”

“As ready as I'll ever be,” Bucky replied. “First time's always the most difficult, right?”

“Well, yes and no. The way I see it, as long as your first time is in the right hands, it doesn't have to be difficult at all,” Clint said, turning away quickly as if sensing the innuendo he'd made, and guiding Bucky (who certainly had caught the innuendo and frankly started it with one of his own so there was plenty of blame to pass around) to his desk. “Now, I've got a good sketch and a backup so if you don't like either of them please don't hesitate to let me know. We'll work on it here if it only needs a few tweaks, or if it’s completely off base I'll fully redo it at no charge. I just want you to be happy with it.”

Bucky nodded as he took a seat across from Clint, then gave a quick wave in reply to the one Daisy gave him when she looked up at them briefly. 

Clint pulled out his own sketchbook and placed it on the desk before Bucky, an almost shy turn to his expression as he opened it. “How's it look?”

Bucky was speechless. He hadn't been certain exactly what he'd wanted when he'd walked into this, but somehow Clint had managed to come up with the absolute perfect design for him. It was biomechanical as Bucky had requested and black and gray – but with areas where Clint had made notations and additional close-ups on the side and a few areas with color pallets scribbled in as well.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, realizing but not caring that he probably looked like an idiot. He raised his eyes to meet Clint's and was happy to see apprehension slowly being replaced by contentment. “I love it. It's...” He gestured a little helplessly. “I love it.”

“I'm glad,” Clint replied with a quietly pleased smile. “As you requested I have it black and gray, but, I thought it might add a nice bit of flair to have some back lighting – like the inner workings are shining through. We can decide on a color when we get there if you like that.”

“It's amazing. I can't wait.” 

With the design approved, there was a little bit of paperwork to fill out (“Don't worry, it’s not really signing your life away, I promise!”) and then Clint led him into the kitchen to drop off the snacks he'd brought with him. It was very clean and organized, shelves and bins labeled with the names of the artists and within each the items labeled with the names of people who were getting their ink – Bucky included.

“Okay.” Clint walked back out of the kitchen with Bucky in tow. “Just follow me downstairs.” 

If you didn't know the studio space was a basement, you really wouldn't be able to tell (beyond the lack of windows – which didn't necessarily mean anything in some spaces) it was so brightly lit and inviting. The walls were a soothing mint green color, and the ever present artwork from upstairs was here as well, though in smaller amounts, each station sporting a few choice pieces on the wall above it. Clint led him to a chair in the front corner of the room, above which was the same stylized logo from his card.

“Okay, before you settle in and get comfortable, I'd like to work on the upper arm first so if you could slip that arm and shoulder out that would be great. You can leave the rest of your shirt on if you like,” he added, glancing briefly as he rearranged things.

Bucky was beyond grateful that he didn't have to go completely topless. He knew there would have been a chance of it with the tattoo he was getting and he wondered if Clint was picking up on his nerves or was just being considerate. He wasn't ashamed of his prosthetic arm by any means, but, he'd be lying if he said he was comfortable exposing where it joined with his shoulder and the scarring that the injury had entailed. With careful, deliberate movements, he unbuttoned his shirt and slipped his right arm and shoulder free.

“Now, I don't mean this to sound like a puberty talk, but there's going to be a lot going on in your body as we go through this, so if you get the chills or anything let me know. We've got some comfy if sometimes a little ugly looking blankets you can borrow. Freshly laundered and everything.”

“Thanks,” he nodded in reply, settling into the chair and letting Clint shift him where he wanted him with gentle touches. 

“Okay – gotta do a little manscaping,” Clint winked as he passed a razor over Bucky’s arm, removing hair in the area he'd just cleaned. “So this is going to be a weird thing during recovery, but when the hair grows back you’ll actually kinda feel it. So when you get to the point you're getting a vague tingle or an itch in this area even when it looks more healed – that's gonna be what it is,” Clint confided. “And if you’ll allow me to re-use of the joke, no basket, but, there is lotion to be put on now.”

“Just please don't talk about Chianti and fava beans,” Bucky replied drolly, delighting in the bark of laughter that elicited from Clint.

“I probably shouldn't joke about that so much, but it's a little too easy sometimes. It's so iconic a film.”

“And I'm willing to guess you're a Craig Ferguson fan too, huh?”

“How'd you know?” Clint asked, with a surprised but pleased grin.

“The A, 2, C, stuff and the references like he undoubtedly would've made in the situation.”

“You remembered that from the consult?” Clint asked with a hint of awe.

“Yeah.” Bucky shrugged. “I was half expecting you to ask me if I wanted to see a picture of Paul McCartney.”

“Only to whip out one of Angela Landsbury,” Clint laughed as they finished together. 

Bucky was very glad for the talk of a shared interest because it distracted him from just how nice it felt to have Clint's hands on his arm. Which was ridiculous, really. It hadn't been that long since anyone had touched him, had it?

“Alright – so the lotion I just put on is how I transfer this stencil.” Clint held up the paper with the portion of the tattoo he was going to work on today up for Bucky to see, “onto your skin.” With quick, precise motions he'd applied the paper, transferring the stencil ink, then carefully removed it to place it off to the side for reference while he worked. He then had Bucky double check the placement in the mirror.

“Any music you don't like?” Clint asked while waiting for the stencil to fully dry, grabbing his iPod and setting it on a speaker dock.

“Nah, I'm pretty open.”

“Good to know,” Clint replied, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves and then setting up his kit. “Okay – you ready?” Clint met his gaze with a gentle smile.

“Let's do this.”

Clint winked then raised his machine and began. It stung about as much as Bucky had imagined it would, to be honest. The pain was obvious but completely manageable. Clint worked in silence for a little while, flicking his gaze to Bucky's face now and again in between lines as if to check on him. He hoped the small smile he was sporting was enough to appease Clint’s worries. 

“I'm not entirely sure what I expected you to pick music wise but this...this wasn't quite it,” Bucky eventually said as he was finally able to hear the music over the sound of buzzing. 

“Who doesn't love Tchaikovsky?” Clint questioned back. “I mean, A) cannons are an actual instrument in the 1812. 2) The 1812 in general. And C) Farscape in particular with it. Also D) I totally watched V for Vendetta last night and it got stuck.”

“That is a pretty great movie,” Bucky agreed. “Have you ever read the graphic novel?”

“Yes.” 

From there they ended up devolving into a discussion about the themes in both, how they differed in some ways due perhaps to the fact that each was at least partially shaped by the times they were released in. What worked in each version, what didn’t, and why some of the choices had been made to change things. Bucky got so involved in the discussion that the pain faded into white noise and he honestly stopped registering the passage of time. 

“Aaand there you are,” Clint said who knew how long later.

“Hmm?” Bucky asked.

“Endorphins kicked in huh?”

“Oh...” Bucky said, feeling only a little foolish. Somewhere along the way, the pain had become only a background feeling, and he'd started to enjoy it almost, and a wave of relaxation had just washed through his body. “I read about that, didn't realize how it would actually feel. How'd you know?”

“Oh no worries, it's a little different for everyone.” Clint said. “And your body just let go of some tension. You probably didn't even realize you were carrying it. It wasn't that bad to be honest, but I know what to look for and being this close...” He did this thing where he somehow shrugged with his face. 

“So what's the weirdest thing someone wanted to watch or listen to while getting a tattoo?” Bucky asked as Clint sorted through his iPod during a short break later on. 

“Well...I did have this one guy want a full back piece of Namor and the only thing he'd watch were sea-slash-ocean-slash-water based documentaries.”

“You're shitting me.”

“Scouts honor.” Clint held up a hand before pulling on a fresh pair of gloves to begin work again. 

“He was never a scout,” Phil mentioned from his station.

Clint stuck his tongue out. “I'm sticking my tongue out in your general direction, Coulson.”

“Wow. So naughty. Much sass.”

Clint was chuckling when he turned his attention back to Bucky. “Okay, never a scout, but I am serious. It was – not really weird like 'woah – weird' but kinda? He was an alright guy though. Friendly. Good tipper. Has sent us various ocean-themed kitsch items for Christmas.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes as Clint began working again. “Is that the joking part?”

“Still all serious.”

“Tahiti is a magical place,” Coulson deadpanned from his station. Bucky could barely make out a tropical themed postcard hanging above the corner of his station.

 

~~

 

All in all the three hours passed by quickly. Clint had steady hands and a soft touch. His sense of humor was fantastic, though it did backfire once or twice as he had to pause because Bucky was laughing too hard (which had then set Clint off as well).

“It's looking real good so far,” Clint murmured as he finished carefully cleaning the tattoo.

“It's...I can’t wait to see the finished product,” Bucky admitted when Clint walked him to the mirror to get a better look at it. 

“It'll mostly hide under even short sleeves for now, so it might save you some questions on it.”

“Oh I don't mind, it looks great so far. Your work is so...great.” He did wish his vocabulary wasn't quite so limited right then, but if the quietly pleased look Clint gave him was any indication, earnest tone made up for any inadequacy in his words. “Thank you.”

“Thank _you_ for trusting me to do it.” They shared a lingering look, the air taking on a charged feeling between the two of them.

“So here's another copy of the aftercare instructions – just in case.” Clint handed over the papers after wrapping up the tattoo and helping Bucky guide his shirt back on, but only once he’d asked first if it was okay for him to help do so. (“Less jostling with a helping hand”). His touch was gentle and very respectful of Bucky's boundaries. “You want to leave it on for a good three hours at least – you can remove it after that point, but only if you're ready to clean and moisturize it when you do. Gently splash the water onto it, don’t put it directly into the stream. Mild soap and clean paper toweling to gently wash and dry it, then keep it moist with the ointment for a few days but don't like just gloop it on. Only a thin layer. After a few days you can switch to an unscented lotion. Basically when it starts peeling and looking a little unsightly. And don't be stingy – use that lotion whenever it gets a little tight feeling or starts to itch even.”

Bucky nodded along as Clint ticked off a mental list. He'd done the research, read the instructions from the last time he'd gotten the list, but it was good to hear it again. “Okay, I think I got it.”

“Good. Good.” Clint gave him a crooked little smile. “D'you still have my card?”

“Yes. Yeah, I uh, do.” He'd put it up on his fridge. And another copy of it on the board in his bedroom. Two locations meant it would be harder to lose, he'd told himself. Sam had laughed when he'd noticed, but surprisingly said nothing.

“Awesome! So please do not hesitate to call if anything happens. If I'm not answering the work number you can divert to the shop itself – anyone is going to be able to help you out and answer questions. And if you're really worried or it's after hours please use my cell.”

“Thanks. I will. I mean, I hope I don't have to, like, I don't want anything to go wrong...but if it does...” Wow. Why did he forget how to talk around Clint? At least he wasn't upset or laughing at Bucky's failure at the English language, though his face did seem amused.

“Okay then. We'll check in with each other in a week via email, and if everything is still going good we'll start on a longer session in two or so weeks.”

“Thank you, again.” Bucky held out his hand and shared a smile with Clint as he shook it.

“My pleasure, really.” 

And then Clint was leading him back up the stairs to the main floor. An unfamiliar young woman with long dark hair was at the counter and a few customers were scattered in the seats near the window. 

“Remember – hydrate well, drink a lot of water, eat a good meal. That snack downstairs will help but won't tide you over forever. Do you have someone to help you get home?”

“I'm taking an Uber.” Bucky held his phone up.

“Good. Good. Well, take care.”

“I will. You too.” They shared another smile and Bucky was back out the door.

 

 

~~

 

 

Later that evening, after Bucky had slipped into his sleep clothes but hadn't yet tucked himself into the chair to read a few chapters before bed, his phone chimed with a text.

CB: Hey man, this is Clint. Sorry, not trying to be a creeper, just checking in to see how things're going?

Bucky raised an eyebrow.

CB: Really really not trying 2B creepy. S'just the first tattoo and all.

BB: No no, s'cool. Things are good

CB: Good!

BB: Lil red, some swelling.

CB: If you're good w/it ibuprofen sm dose for the swelling

BB: Thanks good to know

Well that just sounded stilted as hell. He wandered into the bathroom, Pickles close on his heels and curious as to why their nightly routine wasn't going on as usual. If he held the phone just right and angled his body, the scarring wouldn't be visible in the mirror, even with the old beat up tank top he was wearing. Just before he took the picture, Pickles managed to clamber up onto his shoulder. Because of course. Still, he couldn't get too mad at her, she was used to this shirt being one she could put her claws in a bit to better climb on him. Rather than try to gently move her off, he let her settle against his neck, her little paws carefully several inches back from the top of the tattoo. She was good with boundaries when he set them, and other than some sniffing at the tattoo when she first saw it, she kept carefully away from it even when she perched on his shoulder as she loved to do. Before he could think too long about it he took the picture, hit send, and bit his lip and waited.

CB: KITTY!!!

CB: And it looks good for the first evening.

CB: But, KITTY!!! :D:D

Bucky chuckled and wandered back into the main room of the apartment, settling in on the chair and rubbing his chin against Pickles's head when she nosed around for some affection before settling on his left shoulder. 

Bucky: That's Pickles – “helper” and photobomber extraordinaire.

CB: She's too cute

Bucky: I am her personal jungle gym

CB: S'nice of you 

Bucky: I do what I can

Bucky: She is my claim to Instagram fame after all.

Bucky: Other than some sniffing she's not too bothered by the ink, keeps away

CB: Did I warn you about seepage?

Bucky: Yes

CB: Okay good – it can be super weird in the morning

CB: Make sure if the lil lady gives you kisses she doesn't wash that off

Bucky: I'll make extra sure

CB: Good. I want you both to get through this healthy

Bucky smiled to himself. Clint had to be an animal person.

CB: OK Dread Pirate Barnes and Pickles the Fierce I'll let you get some rest

Bucky: how long did it take to come up with that?

CB: Few minutes, ngl

Bucky: ;)

CB: Night!

Bucky: G'night

With a sigh he set the phone down on the side table. Pickles let out an inquisitive noise and he pressed a kiss to her fur. “I think I might have a crush on him.” He hadn't wanted to admit it to Steve earlier, though he was pretty sure his best friend since forever was picking up on something when he talked about Clint. Still, if he couldn't admit it to his cat, who could he tell? She was good at keeping secrets. At least, he figured, until she learned out how to type anyway. In reply, Pickles flicked her tail up to brush his nose before curling it back around herself. “Yes yes, I still love you the best.”

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

Natasha was at the counter again when Bucky arrived for his second appointment, alongside a young man with dark hair bleached mostly blond that Bucky had yet to meet. She gave him a nod hello while the young man just looked at him appraisingly. He glanced over towards the desks and saw Clint leaning in close with the girl from the end of his last appointment – they seemed to be looking over some drawings. Between one blink and the next Clint glanced up and spotted him – and his smile transformed his entire face from focused and serious to stunningly attractive.

“Bucky!” It had been a very long time since his name coming from someone's mouth sounded so good. “I'll be with you in just a sec – Wanda's getting a tattoo next week, just hammering out a few details.” He nodded in reply and hoped his expression didn't look too idiotically twitterpated as he glanced down and away. Bringing his gaze back towards Natasha and Bleached Highlights, who were looking back with smugly knowing expressions, he guessed it probably did.

“Back for round two?” Natasha asked, secretive smile in place.

“Yeah,” he nodded. He wanted to quip about not being able to stay away but that might be just a little too on the head. 

“Clint shared a picture at the staff meeting, how's the healing going so far?” 

He was caught a little off guard but he supposed it made sense. Maybe they shared all their projects? Or only the bigger ones? Ones they were proud of? And as for sharing himself – he knew it was impolite to just straight up ask near strangers about their ink but he was in the parlor where he got it. He was about to get more ink. That wasn't so weird. 

This go-around he knew he'd be able to keep a tank on so he'd layered that under his button down. With careful movements he slipped his right arm free to expose his shoulder and upper arm to Natasha. She nodded appreciatively as the doorbell rang and someone else entered. Bucky was slipping his arm back in the sleeve as a young woman approached. 

“Clint does good work, but it looks like you're following up well with that aftercare too,” Natasha said as Bleached Highlights stepped up to help the young woman. Natasha's keen eyes followed him. “Pietro is my apprentice,” she said even though he hadn't asked. “He's got the selling and proper hygienic routines down as well as some of the more basic piercings. I'm hoping for a few tragus and septums today. You interested in another needle poking you?”

Bucky laughed but shook his head. 

“I think he'd look great with a helix or two, maybe an orbital, myself,” Clint said in his easygoing drawl as he came up behind Bucky.

“I think working on this tattoo is enough for now,” Bucky replied, glancing between Clint and Natasha. “Maybe once that's over I'll consider some piercings.” He really wasn't sure he wanted anything pierced, but who knew – maybe he'd change his mind in the future. In the least it would give him a reason to see Clint once the tattoo was finished. 

He really shouldn't be thinking things like that at the moment.

Natasha waved them off with another smirk and they made their way downstairs. Phil and Daisy were already down there, Phil was doing the inking on a thigh piece and Daisy was watching intently as he worked, asking questions here and there. 

“So I have to ask – how did Pickles get her name?” Clint opened as Bucky settled himself into the chair, right arm re-exposed.

“Well, I was grabbing lunch from Jay & Lloyd's when I heard this noise coming from the bins out back. It was a tiny kitten, must've been the runt of a litter cause momma cat was nowhere around, and I managed to coax her out. Took her to a vet. Ended up taking her home. As for the name, well, she wasn't too keen on coming out of her hiding place 'til I offered her my pickles. She likes them more than catnip.” Clint threw back his head in delighted laughter, and Bucky found himself blushing just a little because if the smile upstairs had made Clint more attractive, his laugh was a weapon of mass destruction.

“Oh that is the best story I've heard in a while,” Clint grinned at him. “Reminds me a little of how I got my dog, Lucky.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky glanced at the picture Clint had gestured towards. Lucky was a mutt from the looks of it, bit of lab and retriever in him probably, and the biggest and happiest doggie grin on his face. “Is he...?” He leaned forward, squinting.

“Missing an eye? Yeah...” Clint shook his head with a chuckle. “He was nosing around the trash near Broadway Pizza. I go there probably more than is healthy, so I'd fed him once or twice in the previous week. Well, that time he saved me from a mugger. Guy jumped me from behind. I didn't hear him, didn't have my ears in, and this brown blur came out of nowhere. Guy got in a few licks on the both of us but he ran off – thankfully without my wallet. Took Lucky to the vet to get cleaned up, just returning the favor you know, and we've been together ever since.” 

“Quite the pair aren't we?” Bucky chuckled. 

“Suckers for sad-eyes I guess,” Clint agreed.

Before he began, Clint went over a few questions about how he'd been healing. He hadn't texted Bucky again after that first evening, and Bucky hadn't quite felt confident enough to just randomly text him himself. Everything was healing by the book as far as he was aware – though he did have more than a few moments the first two days where he thought about it, not to mention when it was peeling later. 

“So how many times did you google about proper healing?” Clint asked, a small smirk on his face as he leaned in closer.

“Would you believe me if I said only a few times?” Bucky asked, trying for nonchalant but feeling like he missed it just a little. Clint winked in reply and he knew he was caught out – but that he wasn't being judged. It was nice.

“That does look really good. Your skin takes ink well, looks like, and you did real good with the aftercare,” Clint said after he had looked over Bucky's arm with a critical eye while the stencil for round two was drying.

“That's good to hear, considering how much it's going to be getting huh?”

“It is at that,” Clint agreed with a smile. 

The conversation flowed just as easily as it had last time, with Bucky outlining the various reactions of friends and coworkers when he showed them hints of his tattoo in progress: “Lang, my cubicle neighbor, nearly flipped out because he thought I’d been joking, and my best friend Steve really wants to meet you – loves your style,” and Clint talking a little more about the shop and the other people that worked there. 

Along with Clint and Phil, there were two other regular artists: Jasper and Darcy and neither of them worked on Wednesdays (most of the time.) Daisy had been with them about a year and Phil thought she was just about ready to perform her first tattoo on an actual customer soon. She'd already inked herself, several friends, and a few of the others in the shop. Clint hadn’t gotten any ink from Daisy yet, they were still figuring out his design. Natasha was the only piercer they had, though Pietro was tentatively scheduling appointments for certain types of piercings Natasha felt he had down solid. Wanda, the girl at the counter when he had left last time and Pietro's twin it turned out, was an aspiring tattoo artist from the sound of it. The design the two of them had been working on was a collaboration, Clint explained. There were other people who manned the counter sometimes, but all of them seemed to be very limited, almost spot help really, and all were friends with someone else that worked there.

“Is it typical to have multiple apprentices in a shop?”

“I'm not really sure,” Clint replied with a shrug. “This is the only shop I've ever worked at. Phil likes to pay it forwards though. The business is doing well so we could easily bring on more artists, but he has a thing for picking up strays and helping people come into their own.” 

It sounded like there was a story behind that, possibly several stories even, but Clint didn't seem like he was going to elaborate, and the man in question, along with Daisy, had returned upstairs after finishing the piece he’d been working on. 

“Sounds like you guys built yourself a bit of a family, huh?” Bucky eventually ventured, hoping he wasn't being too presumptuous. Tattoos and body piercings were becoming more popular and accepted but remained counterculture enough that he could easily see the types of people that did them for a living creating their own niches and families. 

“Yeah, yeah, we really did,” Clint agreed, his eyes intent on his work but his smile was soft and fond. “Complete with the occasional family cook-out on the roof even. Man,” he chuckled. “I guess I don't often think how cliche we are.” 

“It sounds nice,” Bucky admitted. He had his own actual family, of course, and they still spoke occasionally in the case of his parents who were quite busy in their retirement; and as often as they could in the case of his baby sister, Rebecca, equally busy off in Providence attending college. She'd been so thrilled when Bucky had mentioned he was getting a tattoo and she'd hounded and begged and pleaded with him to share a picture after the first appointment, squealing with delight when he'd finally revealed it during their weekly Skype last weekend. 

He also had Steve and Sam. He'd been a little nervous when Steve, who had essentially surpassed best friend status and become his brother long ago, had started dating Sam. Nervous because would anyone, man or woman, ever be good enough for Steve, one of the best people Bucky knew? And secondarily, would that person understand how much Bucky needed Steve (and Steve, Bucky)? It had been a huge relief when it turned out Sam was everything he'd ever hoped for Steve to find in a partner. Plus it didn’t hurt that he and Bucky understood and liked each other (even if it didn't always come across that way).

“Alright – how those endorphins treating you today?” Clint asked, raising his tattoo machine and leaning back in his seat. 

“Pretty good,” Bucky admitted with an easy smile. The rush had kicked in sooner this time versus the last (his body now understanding what was happening and seeming more eager to get with the program) and he'd been riding it comfortably ever since. 

“Okay, well, I don't want you getting too loopy or crashing unexpectedly, and we've been at this for a while so hows about a break and a snack, hm?”

“Sure,” Bucky agreed, rolling his neck and shoulders, shaking his arm a little as he stood, then followed Clint back up the stairs. He and Clint ended up leaning against the counter in the kitchen facing each other while Bucky ate an apple and Clint fiddled with the french press. 

Phil ducked his head into the kitchen. “Ah good, you're breaking. I'm about to take my 1:30 down and we've got someone asking about Japanese Traditional placement – could you bail Wanda out and spare a few minutes to listen and see if Jasper'd be able to pull off what they want?” 

“Uh yeah, sure,” Clint nodded, giving Bucky an apologetic shrug. “Make yourself comfy? I shouldn't be more than five minutes.”

“No problem,” Buck nodded, watching Clint walk away. It was a nice view even in the looser fitting cargo pants he was wearing. After the doors swung shut on his view of Clint, Bucky's eyes roamed over the kitchen counter as he munched on his apple, eventually landing on the fridge itself. It was covered in pictures, reminding him a little of the stereotype of the family fridge with pictures of the kids and their drawings. Then again, it was pretty on the nose from what Clint had mentioned before; the people at the shop really were a little bit of a family. 

Bucky drifted closer and looked over the shots picking out Natasha, Clint and Phil easily in most of them. There was a bald man covered in tattoos and he had to wonder if that was Jasper, one of the other artists. And was the brunette with the pouty lips Darcy perhaps? Daisy made an appearance in a few and there was even a couple with the twins as well. Most of the shots were candids, with everyone smiling or mugging for the camera; though a few were of them actually working, studies in concentration as they put down ink. 

“That one in the center - me n'Phil, n'Nat? That's back from when this all started,” Clint said quietly from behind him. Bucky had heard his steps as he approached, so he wasn't startled, but he did straighten up a tiny bit guiltily. “Feels like yesterday but it's been about ten years.”

It was a good picture, and if you looked closely he supposed the three of them did look a tiny bit younger – they were all aging exceptionally well. They were in front of the building itself, Phil in the middle flanked by Natasha and Clint, their arms companionably around each other and wide hopeful grins on their faces. To the side of them the sign for Delta Tattoos looked crisp and new.

“Anyway,” Clint said, shaking his head a bit when Bucky turned to look at him, “Ready to go again?”

“Ready and willing,” he winked, tossing his apple core into the trash and making Clint laugh. They remained in a companionable silence on the way back into the main studio and until Bucky was comfortably seated back in the chair.

“You don't have to answer if you don't want to, but… Can I ask why you don't have that many visible tattoos?” Bucky asked once they started up again. Clint did have two quite visible tattoos – a muted volume symbol behind one ear and the 'out of order' behind the other. They were small, but the statement they made was pretty damn big. They meant even when he had on his smaller in-the-canal hearing aids he was calling out that he was deaf and didn't care who knew it.

Bucky wasn't really complaining about the lack of ink elsewhere, Clint's arms were veritable works of art quite frankly, smooth skin over muscles and healthy looking veins. They weren't quite as big as Steve's, but damn if Bucky didn't find them about a thousand times more attractive (and not just because he wasn't attracted to Steve). 

Clint chuckled as he slipped on a pair of fresh gloves. “I uh, it's a little silly, really. I know I shouldn't worry at all, but I'm an archer. I can shoot both right and left, though I'm left dominant, but I've never really gotten much ink on my arms because I'm a little worried it might mess up my draw somehow. And, honestly, because I'm not sure I could stay away from it long enough to allow the ink to heal properly. My gear would rub against anything below the elbow and mess things up.”

“He's leaving out the vanity part,” Phil called over from his chair. “He likes the gun show he puts on.”

“You love the aesthetic and you know it, Coulson,” Clint called back with a grin and just a hint of red on his cheeks.

“It's a good look,” Bucky said, pretty sure the red got a little deeper, though the twitch of Clint's lips was the only acknowledgment he gave as he worked. Despite the flirting they'd done when they'd met for the consult, most of their interactions had been slightly milder since then. Well, they were artist and client after all, it only made sense to dial it back some. 

“I do have a fair amount of ink on my legs and on my chest and back though,” Clint finally said and Bucky couldn’t help but wonder what kind of tattoos a guy like Clint might have. Something traditional? Anchors, ships, and roses? New school with unique designs and vibrant colors? 

He had surprisingly difficult time not asking if he could see them sometime.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

 

It was a little strange to go in later in the afternoon when his normal appointments had been late morning, but Bucky had actually had to go into Stark Industries for a staff meeting that day rather than his usual Wednesday telecommuting. Clint had been very understanding and had switched things up for him with no problem.

There was quite the commotion going on when he entered. Wanda was laughing excitedly and throwing her arms around Clint. Bucky couldn't quite make out what she was saying, he was pretty sure it was in whatever her native language was (Russian? Ukrainian? Polish? he'd meant to ask but hadn't yet). What was easy to make out was the easy way the two of them shared space. The way her hands were still on Clint and the kiss she pressed to his cheek. How he then pulled her back to frame her face with his hands, the affection in his gaze as he looked at her, and the kiss he gently pressed on her cheek in return. 

The spike of jealousy was swift and powerful – as was the swooping disappointment that made his stomach drop. Of course Clint was already in a relationship. A great guy like him wouldn't be single. And as for the flirting, well, Steve had probably been right. It probably was just a part of his personality. At least Bucky felt secure enough now that he didn't automatically jump to the conclusion that Clint wasn’t interested in him because of his arm. It wasn't like last time with Rumlow – in more ways than one.

He didn't think, or he didn't want to think, that Clint was the type to flirt to get a better tip, so Bucky tried to make himself feel a little better with the idea that at least Clint had liked something about him enough to flirt. All of those feelings happened within a very short span of time, of course, leaving him more than a little discombobulated when Clint looked over and noticed him. Just like last time his face lit up in a smile when he spotted Bucky and said hello, though Bucky found his own reply much duller and a pang of sadness followed his own smile.

Clint's hand was still sitting at the small of Wanda's back.

“Good to see you again, Bucky,” Wanda said and maybe he was reading into things (and he felt like shit for even thinking it because Wanda was a nice girl from what he could tell and God did he hate the stereotype of the jealous girlfriend) but he could have sworn she nudged Clint a little and gave him a significant look before moving around to take her place at the counter.

Clint's expression seemed a little…confused almost, that Bucky wasn't his usual self and that made Bucky feel even worse because it wasn't Clint's fault that he'd maybe starting getting his hopes up. 

“Everything okay?” Clint asked as he guided Bucky towards the basement steps. “Nothing bad in your meeting, I hope?”

He could do this. He could do this.

“Nah, everything's fine,” he replied, mustering as genuine a smile as he could. 

As they descended the stairs Bucky felt Clint's hand against his lower back, and while he would have been quite pleased had it happened last week, this week, in his already agitated state, he tensed up. A bright blush stained Clint's cheek when he pulled his hand away and he apologized profusely, looking more flustered than Bucky had ever seen him. 

Unlike the first two times, the conversation did not flow smoothly while Clint was working. Bucky tried his best, but he couldn't help but stay quiet. Thankfully he wasn't spiraling. It wasn't something he'd had to deal with in a while, he was in a good place mentally overall, but it was always a concern at the back of his mind. Right now he was just... He had to process the let down, was all. It was silly, really, he shouldn't have been that disappointed. They didn't know each other all that well. There hadn't been any sort of explicit intention of dating on either of their parts. And only cursory, albeit he'd thought very apparent, interest, from both of them. He should not have been disappointed.

But he was.

Bucky's tension delayed the normal rush of the endorphins kicking in and they didn't relax him as much. His tenseness affected Clint as well. There was a pinch to his face that Bucky had never seen before. He offered to change the music, put on a movie or television show – anything really. 

Bucky felt like a complete and total jackass. An hour into things and they were already on their third break. 

“I'm sorry,” he said quietly.

“No, no...it's okay.”

“I just...”

“You don't need to explain yourself,” Clint said, casting his eyes downward. “I just don't want you to be uncomfortable is all. It's absolutely no fun, and it can mess up the tattoo. And I don't want you uncomfortable or paying for something that gets messed up. Is there--” He brought his eyes up to meet Bucky's and he looked so concerned. So earnest. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Be single and interested in me, Bucky thought desperately. “No, really, you're fine. It's just me. Stuff I'm working through.” Clint looked a little like Bucky had kicked his dog and yeah...he hated himself a little for it.

“Do you want to maybe cut this one a little short? We can add a little bit of time to some of your other appointments and I'd be willing to knock off a little from the cost.”

“I don't want you to go to any trouble.”

“No it's fine. Like I said, I want nothing but a good experience for you in this. It'll be no problem and the end result will be much better.”

God...he was so fucking kind and understanding. It was so damn unfair. “Thank you.”

 

 

~~

 

 

In the end, he sat for about half the length of his scheduled appointment and took comfort in the fact that Steve was out of town for work and Sam was off visiting his sister and nieces. Nobody was going to bother him or ask him why he was moping and Pickles was just overjoyed he was around for some more snuggle time. 

Bucky wasn't really all that surprised when, at the usual time, his phone chimed with a text.

CB: So you don't need to talk. I just want to know you're okay.

CB: Tatt & otherwise

CB: Y/N is fine!

BB: M'ok. Thanks for asking

BB: Ink is good. Lil sore.

CB: :(

CB: Sorry bout that.

BB: No, my fault.

CB: Still :(

Bucky didn't really know what else to say. He felt a little stupid really, to be so upset. Eventually he managed a generic have a good day/night text and Clint promptly responded.

CB: TY You too

CB: And feel better!

CB: At least as much as you can!

Bucky stared at his phone long after it had dimmed and turned off. Finally he let it fall onto his stomach in favor of stroking Pickles's fur. She raised her head with a soft little “mrr?” noise and blinked at him.

“He's way too sweet and understanding. This is horrible.” Pickles blinked at him a few more times then stretched her head up to lick his chin several times before settling back on his chest. “Thanks sweetie,” he murmured, stroking her again and trying very hard not to think about handsome tattoo artists who were suddenly unavailable to him.

 

 

~~

 

 

The following day Bucky really didn't feel up to making breakfast – which wasn't generally a huge problem with all the little cafes and coffee shops around, but he hadn't really had much of an appetite the night before so he really couldn't afford to short himself. Self Care 101 – get enough rest and get enough (quality) food. Diner food would be a better bet and that meant heading down to Another!

Bucky wasn't sure if he went to Another! often enough to be considered a regular, but the owner, Thor Odinson, knew him on sight, as did more than a few of the waitstaff. So perhaps he did. 

He'd barely made it in the door and was glancing around at the seating (or rather lack of on a very busy Thursday morning) when he caught sight of someone familiar. Well, two people, probably, because sitting in a booth by the window was Clint Barton and Bucky would bet good money that Wanda was the one sitting with her back to the door.

He was just about to execute a strategic retreat – he could find somewhere else to eat, it was New York City for fuck’s sake, when two things happened: Clint looked up from the menu, and at the exact same moment Thor noticed him.

“Bucky Barnes! It has been too long since you have customed here!” Thor exclaimed. Thor was one of the happiest people he'd ever met, and Bucky’d yet to have a greeting from him be anything less than an enthusiastic affair. He was just releasing Bucky from a hug when Clint walked up behind him. He looked good. A pair of sunglasses pushed up on his spiky hair, a soft looking t-shirt hugging his torso just so, and a pair of shorts showing off the tattoos he had on his legs. He seemed so pleased to see Bucky and a few days ago he would have been equally happy. Now it just tugged at his heart a little and made him annoyed at himself again for reacting that way to a crush.

“Come my friend, and I shall find you a seat,” Thor said.

“No that's--”

“Actually, if you don't mind, you could join us?” Clint spoke up as Bucky tried to explain he would be fine getting his meal to go, offering a little wave hello.

“How fortuitous!” Thor said with his trademark smile. He then glanced between the two of them and the smile grew even wider. “Is this the tattoo artist that you have been working with?”

“It is,” Bucky affirmed. “Thor, this is Clint Barton; Clint this is Thor Odinson – he uh, he owns this place.”

“Well met, my friend.” Thor shook Clint's hand with his usual vigor. “Though Bucky has not been in for some weeks,” he leveled a look at Bucky, “When he last showed the work you had done it was quite spectacular.”

Clint looked so genuinely pleased at the praise. “Thank you. Bucky is a very inspiring canvas.” 

“Well then, may I offer a meal on the house as complement to your talent.” Thor said as Bucky ducked his head in shy pleasure.

“Oh no that's--”

“I insist.”

Bucky found himself guided over to the table where Wanda was watching the proceedings and not at all hiding her amusement.

“Mr. Odinson--”

“Please, I insist you call me Thor.”

“Thor,” Clint corrected. “This is Wanda Maximoff – my newly appointed apprentice.”

Bucky had been bracing himself to hear 'girlfriend' and he blanked for a moment, missing Thor's “Well met, m'lady.”

“Apprentice?” Oh...he hadn't meant to sound so surprised.

“Yeah,” Clint nodded, his pride evident as he looked to Wanda. “She's been trying to talk me into it almost since she and Pietro started at the shop.”

“He was stubborn,” Wanda said. “Kept insisting he wouldn't be quite good enough.” She shook her head.

“Well...” Clint shrugged – all aw-shucks ease to his body language. “In my defense, I didn't – I don't – want to let you down.”

“My brothers are both stupid in their own ways. Pietro does not think things through enough. And this one,” she gestured at Clint. “This one thinks too much.”

“Guilty,” Clint confirmed, chuckling as he eased himself down next to her. “Anyway, we're having celebratory breakfast.”

Bucky sat down across from them, noting absently that words were being exchanged but not really making them out. Apprentice. Brother. Wanda met his gaze and smiled while Clint and Thor continued to chat. Well. He probably still shouldn't get his hopes up too much, but maybe there was still a chance after all.

Thor departed after flagging down one of the waitresses and asking her for another place setting for Bucky and informing her the meals would be comped (and to be sure and add a goodly tip for herself because her boss really did work her very hard – Thor was actually rather good with deprecating humor).

“So – you're a regular here?” Clint asked, sliding his cup of coffee over to the other side of the table as the waitress set down a place setting for Bucky. “What do you recommend?”

“Just about everything?” he chuckled, his nerves clearly making themselves evident. Get a grip, Barnes, he told himself, glancing up at Clint's open, smiling face. “The absolute best calorie bomb in the world are the cinnamon bun pancakes.”

“Oh my God, that sounds amazing,” Clint turned wide-eyes at Wanda. “I think I need to get that.”

“I sometimes wonder how you are not diabetic.” She shook her head, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips. “He eats terribly.”

“No, I don't. I just have a bit of a sweet tooth. I love my coffee and coffee goes well with a little sugar. I'm all about the bitter and the sweet.” He winked at Bucky and try as he might, Bucky couldn't not smile back at that. 

“For something more delicate...the balsamic strawberries with ricotta cream is amazing, and their regular breakfast sandwiches are very good.” 

They batted ideas back and forth for a little while until the waitress returned again to take their order and then left them in silence, which wasn't half as uncomfortable as Bucky had been worried it could be. It also didn't last all that long as Clint egged Wanda on until she started talking about some of her own artistic history.

Bucky wondered if anyone else would've noticed the way Clint tensed ever so slightly whenever someone came up closely from behind him out of his blind spot. He had in the familiar purple BTE aids that he seemed to favor when working and Bucky knew his eyesight was pretty damn good but there was an angle that both missed and he was all too familiar with why that probably made Clint nervous. It was probably similar to the reason Bucky felt nervous when he didn't have eyes on the entrance points in unfamiliar places. Situational awareness was always altered for people who'd seen combat in one form or another. Clint hadn’t mentioned anything about being in the service, so there was something else lurking in his past. Something that had made him hyper aware of his surroundings, concerned that someone would be able to sneak up on him and cause him harm.

And that, combined with the fact that Clint, who had been sitting facing the door before, was willing to put himself into an uncomfortable position so _Bucky_ would be comfortable, made something stir in his chest.

Then, in the middle of some anecdote, Clint seemed to notice that Bucky had noticed the situation and suddenly his tension drained away. A moment later it hit Bucky in the gut that Clint was suddenly trusting _Bucky_ to watch his back for him. It was humbling, not to mention a little frightening, and he took a long drink of water to cover his sudden surprise. 

“Sorry about yesterday, again,” Bucky said into the momentary silence.

“No hey, you're good,” Clint replied, same easygoing smile present on his face. 

“It's just...” Bucky sighed. “I got some disappointing news is all.” 

Clint scrunched up his face and murmured an “Awww shit – I'm sorry--” before Bucky held up his hand to finish.

“Well actually...” he glanced to Wanda ever so briefly. “It turns out, it was a miscommunication.” She gave him a lovely smile and the briefest of nods and Bucky felt his heart soar. 

Meanwhile, seemingly oblivious to the silent communication, Clint ever so enthusiastically replied with a quiet cheer and a “Well that's awesome!”

Breakfast was as delicious as always and even with Wanda there, Bucky and Clint had resumed the flirting that had always seemed to happen when they were near each other – albeit with a little more awkwardness given the day before. Maybe now it felt more real? And by feeling more real the possibility of messing something up was on their minds? 

Later, outside the diner, Bucky politely shared goodbyes and shook hands with Wanda, and then reached out to do the same with Clint – who used the point of contact to pull him into a hug. He was a little surprised at first and Clint nearly pulled away with a hasty “Shit-sorry,” before Bucky pulled him closer by slipping his other arm around him and murmured, “S'ok.”

It was more than okay really. Bucky would never call himself touch-starved; Sam could be handsy and he was best friends with Steve I-might-as-well-be-part-octopus Rogers. But there was something different, and dare he think and sound like a sappy dolt – something special – about hugging the person you were interested in. Rumlow had never been a very physically affectionate man, and Bucky had often despaired at the lack of both gentle touches and the grander gestures of all-encompassing hugs. 

Having Clint's beautiful arms wrapped around him, being able to lean against him and feel the heat of his body, catch a whiff of how he smelled (really fucking good – a hint of leather and something woodsy softened by vanilla?) was sublime. Bucky very nearly buried his face against Clint's neck to chase the scent of the cologne, but the sight of the muted volume symbol behind Clint's ear somehow managed to bring him to his senses and he pulled back slowly. His breathing had changed ever so slightly but he refused to be embarrassed by that. Well - aside from vowing Sam was never going to hear about how Bucky'd managed to get a little turned on by a hug and a sniff, since he was pretty sure Clint had as well. 

“I um...see you in a few weeks?” Clint asked, digging the toe of his converse against the sidewalk.

“Yeah...a few weeks.” They were still holding hands somehow and Bucky grinned as they slowly let go and Clint took a few steps backwards.

“Have a great weekend!”

“You too!” Thankfully, Wanda managed to keep Clint from bumping into anyone as he seemed insistent on walking backwards until the two of them had rounded the corner and dropped out of sight. Bucky was then jerked out of his woolgathering by a firm knock on the window where Thor stood beaming and giving him two thumbs up. 

Yeah...it didn't look like he was going to get away with Sam not finding out about this after all.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

 

Bucky was a little nervous when he arrived for his fourth appointment. He knew he shouldn't be, the ugly ridiculous jealousy he'd had no reason to give in to last time had been resolved. He still wasn't entirely sure if Clint was interested in him, but it seemed like the odds were pretty good and he did have to admit that perhaps some of his doubt was his mind giving in to the darker feelings he still had to work on not giving in to. Still, he found his heart pounding and his breath quickening as he opened the door and entered the parlor. A man he had yet to meet was standing at the counter; though he seemed vaguely familiar, and it took a moment before Bucky recalled the pictures from the fridge. 

“Yeah, I think I understand the fuss now,” he said, holding his hand out. “Jasper Sitwell.”

“Bucky Barnes.” And damn, but he was blushing. There’d been a fuss? Over him?

“Thank you, Jasper,” Clint said, voice tight in a way Bucky hadn't heard from him before. It sounded like he was uncomfortable. He quickly steered Bucky away with a hand to his lower back, muttering “Bunch of gossipy divas,” under his breath. The hand remained until they reached the stairs where Clint abruptly pulled it away with the faint hint of a blush as if recalling what had happened last time (and perhaps not noticing that Bucky had been pleased to lean into it this time). “Sorry. Sorry. Um...Jasper...”

“Should I ask what he meant by the fuss?”

“Eugh...” Clint blew out a breath as they entered the main studio. Phil was working at his chair and Clint remained quiet until they settled in at his station. “I...You...” He began cleaning Bucky's arm where he was going to put today's stencil down. “I was worried I'd upset you somehow last time, is all.”

Bucky had a feeling that wasn't all there was to it, but he wasn't about to question Clint now. Not when they'd hopefully worked things out.

“And I don't...I don't want to upset you, you know?” He met Bucky's eyes and smiled the absolute sweetest shy smile he'd ever seen. “You're a pretty great guy.”

“Thanks.” It was his turn to blush now. “You too.”

The delicate snort startled them both as Natasha appeared out of nowhere. “Sorry – allergies,” she smiled sweetly – perhaps too sweetly to be real – as she grabbed something from the station next to Clint's. 

“Does Darcy know you're using her stuff?” Clint asked.

Natasha waved her phone at him and sauntered off with a wink and a “Have fun boys.” 

Bucky waited until Clint had placed the stencil before saying, “Girls are weird.”

 

 

~~

 

 

Clint had warned him that the inside of his upper arm would be painful, but no amount of preparation was quite enough – it hurt like a son of a bitch. The endorphins had kicked in and Bucky was pretty good at compartmentalizing physical pain, but it was still difficult to sit through at times. He knew he wouldn't be able to recall what music Clint had put on in the background later, he was far too focused on the sound of his voice as he talked him through. Soft and steady and the best distraction. The feel of the light touches of Clint's hand as he brushed against the skin to wipe away ink and to soothe creating their own warm rush in Bucky's body. 

“Okay, okay – that's it. You've done beautifully,” Clint murmured as he sat back and set down the machine. He stripped off his gloves and held up a cup of water with a straw to Bucky's lips. “Just take a few sips. Good?” Bucky nodded and he set the cup back down. 

“You know what? We deserve sandwiches. I'm buying – no arguments.”

“Roast beef?” Bucky requested, grabbing the water himself this time, though the dull ache from his arm flared as he moved. He wondered why he hadn't felt coddled when Clint had offered it before, then dismissed it. 

“Not a problem,” Clint grinned. “Let's just get you settled in the kitchen and I'll run out and grab them.” He guided Bucky upstairs, and looked a little surprised when he saw the brunette girl at the counter along with Daisy and Wanda, Jasper having joined the party in the studio about an hour into Bucky's appointment.

“Darce – don't tell me you have an appointment today too.”

“Nope!” she replied, way too cheerfully. “Just wanted to come in and see everyone. I miss you guys!” Her eyes were clearly following Bucky as she spoke.

“You just saw us yesterday or the day before?” Clint replied and Bucky chuckled briefly, even as he shivered. He was dropping a bit as the endorphins wore off. Soon enough, Clint was settling him at the table in the kitchen and draping the hoodie he'd snagged from his desk over his shoulders. “You get colder remember only the left arm into the hoodie – the inks covered but...” After a little more fussing he was dashing out the door.

Bucky carefully slipped his left arm into the arm of the hoodie, doing his best not to pull or strain the right as he did so. Then, with a guilty glance towards the saloon doors and the main shop floor of the parlor beyond them, he took a sniff of the collar of the hoodie. He was right in his guess that it was Clint's personal hoodie. It smelled just like him. The woodsy vanilla and the leather with just a hint of Clint’s natural musk. With a smile he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, savoring the scent and the warm feelings that were already building in response to it. It was silly and melodramatic in a teenage romance kind of way, but he felt almost...safe with the hoodie on. The smell of Clint wafting around him.

Embarrassing sniffing finished, he took a few more sips of his water and let his mind drift a little. He could hear the ladies at the counter talking and while he didn't mean to eavesdrop, it was difficult not to.

“So as much as I love our boys one thing they might not talk to you about is the creeper factor. I mean, it's not like they have to deal with it the same way we do, so I am willing to give them a bit of a pass on that.” The voice was mostly unfamiliar so it had to be Darcy.

“Is it really that bad?” Wanda asked.

“Eh...it's usually not much of a problem, but it can be. Customers sometimes get the wrong idea, you know? Overstep the boundaries. I mean, yes, I might be seeing you in various states of undress and we do chat with you, but that doesn't mean I'm interested in you. And some guys just don't get that.”

“I've had that problem in retail – well, minus the various stages of undress part,” he heard Daisy say. “The whole I'm being paid to be polite to you thing is just missed by some.”

He lost the rest of the conversation, his not-always-so-helpful mind spinning on to the possibilities of what that meant for him and Clint. Was he reading too much into the situation? He didn't think so. He was pretty damn sure there was something there between the two of them. Something beyond the relationship of client and service provider. But he could see how things could get tangled and twisted in such a situation.

No, he decided later when Clint swept back in with the sandwiches, opened his mouth to say something then stood there for a moment, his eyes darkening just a little and breath hitching then kicking up some as he looked at Bucky. Twin points of color slowly appeared high on his cheeks as he stood, staring at him. It wasn't a blush, he'd seen Clint blush already. That was the look, the reaction, of someone liking the way he looked in their clothes. 

Clint was turned on by Bucky wearing his hoodie.

No, he wasn't reading too much into the situation. But he also realized that whatever could develop from this mutual attraction they shared should probably be put on hold until his tattoo was finished. That much had certainly been hammered home by listening to the girls talk.

It would only be about another month or so. That wouldn't be too bad.

 

 

~~

 

 

“Finals suuuuuuuuck!!” Rebecca complained on Skype the evening after his fourth appointment. Normally they talked on the weekends but it had been pushed up due to her visit in a few days. “Why do I want to be a marine biologist again?”

“Because you love the ocean and the animals in it?” he replied, fluffing the fur on top of Pickles's head as she sniffed at the laptop and batted at Rebecca on the screen. 

“Hi baby,” Rebecca said, crooking her finger at the camera to encourage the cat to “play” with her. “And I suppose you're right. I do love it. Just not the endless papers and exams.”

“Just one left, right?” Bucky asked, idly watching his cat dart around the screen to the other side. She hadn't gone on the keyboard yet. Yet being the important part of that sentence.

“Yeah – got a paper due tomorrow. Pretty sure it's good, but I'll give it one last look in the morning after some actual sleep.”

“Sleep is not something that happens in college, I'm afraid.”

“Tell me about it,” she rolled her eyes. “Last exam was today. Gonna try to come down off the caffeine tonight, turn that paper in tomorrow, sleep a bit more, and make my way down Friday morning.”

“I've got the day off so I'll be set,” he replied, then, “She's gonna get too excited one of these days and disconnect us you know.” He stifled his laughter as best he could (Pickles got ever so cross when she thought he was laughing at her) while she let out a few attack squeaks and batted at the screen again. 

His phone chimed just as Rebecca laughed and insisted, “No, she won't. She's too smart for that, aren't you, sweetie?”

It was Clint.

CB: Hey you. How's it going? Sore?

BB: A little, not too bad.

BB: Ibuprofen helped.

CB: Good! Swelling?

Bucky sent him the picture (in which he was curling his arm in a classic muscle pose to better show off the area tattooed – that was his story and he was sticking to it) he'd taken before calling Rebecca. 

CB: Check out the gun show!

CB: ;-)

Bucky grinned and ducked his head a little – which was silly because it wasn't like Clint could see him. His sister, however, could.

“Jimmy...who are you talking to?”

“What?” He glanced up from the phone where he'd just sent a blushing emoji to Clint. “No one.”

“Right.”

It was hopeless, really, because Clint's reply of smirking and eye-waggling emojis made him laugh out loud.

“Aww, Jimmy's got a cru-ush.” Rebecca sing-songed.

“Shut up,” he grumped, still smiling.

“Who is it? Is he cute? What's his name? Can I meet him?”

“Whoa whoa whoa – slow down kiddo.”

BB: Sorry, sister on Skype.

CB: I'm sorry! Text ltr?

BB: S'ok, just slow.

“Is it the tattoo hottie?”

CB: Cool

CB: Hello sister!

CB: If that's ok?

“Oh my God it is, isn't it?”

Bucky sighed. “Sam's been talking out of school, huh?”

BB: Totally fine.

“His name is Clint. He says hello.”

“Actually, it was Steeb. And you didn't answer.”

“Of course it was Steve.” It wasn't that he was never going to tell Becca, he just hadn't really gotten around to it. And she was busy with her school, job, and internship. She didn't have time to sit and listen to him moan on about the latest details about his crush on his tattoo artist. Actually, he realized with a touch of guilt, he hadn't really told her much at all about Clint or even getting his tattoo, even with calls every week or two over the last month and a half. 

“It is the tattoo guy,” he admitted. “And he is ridiculously hot.” Bucky wrinkled his face into a properly tragic look. “So fucking hot, Becks. And he's just so damn nice. It's terrible.” He knew his tone was a little whiny but he couldn't help it. Besides, it made Becca laugh. 

“Oh you poor thing,” she tutted, then did an almost immediate 180. “Wait – he's into you, right?” she questioned, suddenly concerned. “I mean, I didn't just, like, step into a ‘he's straight or otherwise involved already or is in some way insane enough to not be interested in my fabulously amazing brother,' situation in my sleep deprived state, did I? Steve said there was flirting? Was he Steve-ing the situation?”

Bucky grinned and held up a hand to allay her fears. Pickles, meanwhile, decided that meant he wanted to play and promptly attacked said hand.

“I uh, yeah.” He gently dissuaded the little feline from her game. “I'm pretty sure it's mutual.”

“Well then, what the hell? Why are you talking to me?” She rolled her eyes at him. “Go get your man – or did you forget how to flirt? Do you need some help or pointers or something?”

“Well at the moment we have the whole client/artist thing going on, so...”

She huffed out a sigh. “Fine. Be all good and proper. Hey – say hello to Hot Guy for me. Or send something, at least, you've been leaving him hanging.”

BB: My sister says hi

CB: Whoo!

Buck grinned. “He cheered,” he then explained to Becca, who winked in reply.

“You know you really should show me a pic of him.”

“Becca, I'm not asking him for a pic.”

“You don't have one?”

“No!”

“Why not?”

He snorted and absently took a twist-tie away from Pickles. Where she'd found it he had no clue but should probably investigate after the call. “I'm paying him for a service.” Becca waggled her eyebrows. “You know what I mean.” He watched as she reached forward to start typing something into her computer. “There isn't one on the webpage either.” Clint's work was done under his name, but only the Hawkeye logo was up on the Delta Tattoo webpage. He had a professional Instagram and Facebook, but both of them were also lacking in pictures of his face. At least they had been from what Bucky could recall when he'd looked them over while searching for an artist. It seemed like Clint liked to keep the professional and personal separate. 

“So he's hot and you've been seeing him--”

“Professionally.”

“--for a few months, but you don't have a picture of him.”

“Do you take pictures of your hair stylist?”

“Actually we do sometimes take selfies while she's working, and I don't even want to bang her.”

Bucky groaned and rolled his eyes in reply. “It's weird to ask, okay?”

“Sure. Okay.”

He rolled his eyes again but dutifully tapped out on his phone:

BB: She's curious what you look like.

CB: Of course - most handsome (and eligible) tattoo artist in Brooklyn

Bucky was in the middle of typing 'if it's too weird you don't have to' when a picture popped up.

He hit send on reflex.

Clint was standing at a desk from the look of it, and must have leaned forward against it while holding his phone to take the picture as both of his arms and his long lean torso were visible. His hair looked a little spikier than normal and his shirt was practically clinging to him.

Bucky's mouth went dry and he would have been stuck staring at the pic a little longer had Clint's replies not shifted it up.

CB: No problem.

CB: Sry I'm a mess

CB: Just got in from a run

Becca's smile was all too evil and knowing when he looked up at her. Wordlessly he held up the phone and she whistled.

“Okay big bro, he is a looker. And you have a new text.”

CB: Turnabout?

“Smile Becks,” he turned in the chair and tilted his phone around until he got a pic where he and she both showed up and looked mostly okay. Pickles, of course, managed to pop her head into the bottom corner of the shot and they were still laughing by the time he hit send. “It's good you're cute, Fuzz Butt.”

CB: I love ur cat

CB: Ur sis is cute btw. Like you

CB: Looks like you and is cute like you ftr

And yup. He was blushing now.

“Okay what happened? What did he say?”

CB: Sorry??

“He said we look alike.”

BB: No no

BB: It's fine

“And what else? Because that's not enough to make you blush.”

Bucky took a deep breath.

BB: You too btw

BB: Are cute

BB: Handsome

BB: You and my sis – not alike

“Jimmy....”

“He said I was cute.” She'd probably deny it, but his sister totally squealed.

CB: :)

CB: ty

CB: Is this...all ok?

“You doing okay, Jimmy?”

BB: Yes

“Yeah.”

BB: More than okay

“I'm doing good.”

 

 

~~

 

 

That exchange opened the door to additional texting.

Clint was off on Thursdays as it turned out, and other than answering emails and doing some drawing, he had a free day. Which meant that he texted Bucky here and there. Mostly funny little observations or things his dog did. Bucky really wished he wasn't cramming two days of work into one and could reply properly, but it was nice to get back to his cubicle desk throughout the day and find new messages waiting for him.

“I don't know if I’ve ever seen you smile that much in such a short period of time,” Scott said with a rather knowing look.

He left Stark Industries much later than he would normally and without much energy to make himself dinner – or put up with people to purchase any. He ended up sharing a can of tuna with Pickles and, without giving it a second thought, sent a picture of the two of them to Clint. 

BB: Saddest dinner ever. :(

CB: Too much work and not enough spoons, huh?

BB: Yeah

Clint sent him a shot of a half empty pizza box – with Lucky licking his chops just to the side of it.

CB: Constant vigilance is what saves my dinner

CB: I'll prolly sneak him some ltr anyway 

CB: Does Pickles like pepperoni? 

CB: Spose we could try sardines...

Bucky's smile was soft and probably a little fond.

BB: Never know until we try

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

 

“You know – I think I really need to get a piercing to celebrate the end of the semester,” Rebecca told him the following day over dinner. She'd arrived mid-morning, and after settling into his guest room they'd gone to have lunch with Sam and Steve. Somehow the three of them had kept from ganging up on him about Clint throughout that meal and a trip to MOMA. Perhaps this was the reason. Lulling him into a false sense of security for her solo attack. “Do you know any good places?”

“You really suck at the innocent look, you know. That's the problem with learning it from Steven Grant Rogers.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Sure you don't.”

“Little bit of bling, right here,” she pointed vaguely to her right ear. 

He shook his head and gave her a very patient smile but pulled out his phone anyway. Clint was working, he knew that much, but he'd reply to the text whenever he got the chance.

BB: Becks wants a piercing, Natasha have an opening tomorrow u think?

He held the phone up to his sister so she could see he had indeed sent the text, and after she gave him a double-thumbs up, they returned to eating. 

They were an hour into The Princess Bride when Clint was finally able to reply.

CB: Sure, does walk ins all day.

CB: Wanna put a time on the books tho?

Rebecca looked over at him after pausing the movie and they shared a brief discussion. They were playing it fast and loose tomorrow, no real plans, just quiet time to bond.

BB: 2ish sound okay?

BB: We're going to Another! for lunch before...

CB: Ur in the book. :)

CB: Say hey to Thor for me

CB: Just glare at Pietro if he flirts too much btw

CB: It's comedy gold for the rest of us

BB: Will do for both

BB: Thanks

CB: Anytime

CB: GTG – client

CB: Enjoy bonding time

BB: TY! Night!

CB: Night :)

“You should use more emojis to flirt,” Rebecca critiqued, and he whapped her lightly with a pillow in retaliation. 

“I'll flirt how I like.”

“Slow as a glacier.”

Things devolved in a predictable fashion from there, with the usual slap-fighting, pillows being flung around, and popcorn flying that marked any silly sibling fight between the Barneses.

 

 

~~

 

 

Wanda and Pietro were at the counter when Bucky guided his sister into Delta the following day. There was a buzz to the place he wasn't entirely used to – Saturdays were busier than Wednesdays, which made sense to him, but still. Phil and Daisy were at his desk with a client and Darcy gave a little wave to him as she guided another one to the stairs. There were people waiting in the seats by the window as well, but the twins welcomed them both and motioned them forward. 

“The paperwork isn't that different from the tattoo,” Wanda said to the both of them. “Disclaimers about care and the like. Just read it over and initial, and then Pietro can help you pick something out.” Bucky soon realized this wasn't an entirely spur of the moment decision to do this on Becca's part as she got into a rather involved discussion with Pietro on the pros and cons of various ear piercings. He didn't see anything too overt flirting-wise, though he did narrow his eyes at Pietro for the hell of it, much to Wanda's amusement, when he reached over to tuck some of Becca's hair behind her ear.

“It's important for placement.”

“Mmhmm.”

Piercing decided on (rook), and jewelry picked out (black curved barbell with a red stone) Bucky and Rebecca were ushered over to Clint's desk to wait while the pieces were sterilized and Natasha finished up with her last customer. 

“Wish me luck!” Daisy said, just after they'd sat down.

“She's about to tattoo her first paying customer,” Phil explained.

“You got this, kiddo.” Bucky held out his fist to bump with her as she passed by him on her way downstairs. 

“I like this place,” Becca told him, knocking her shoulder into his. 

“Yeah...it's pretty great,” Bucky replied, distracted suddenly because Clint was coming up the stairs with a customer. They locked gazes for a moment and Clint offered him a smile before turning back to his client, his business expression back on. 

“The twins said we should wait at your desk...” Bucky said rather lamely after Clint had guided his previous customer out the door and walked over to the two of them.

“No it's fine, it's good,” Clint held his hands awkwardly in front of him as if he meant to reach out and touch Bucky but pulled up at the last second, then shoved them into his pockets. “Hi.”

Bucky felt the absurd urge to giggle. “Hey.”

Wanda and Pietro were watching from the counter, not at all hiding their interest. Rebecca would insist afterwards that at least two of the customers in the waiting room were also looking on at the pathetic display with rapt attention.

“Hi, Rebecca Barnes – the sibling that inherited the manners genes.” 

“Clint Barton,” he reached out to shake her hand. “Your brother has been amazing to work with.”

“He's pretty alright, isn't he? Well, most of the time anyway,” she replied with a grin. 

“He's great,” Clint agreed to both his and Bucky's chagrin and the amusement of Natasha, who'd appeared out of nowhere, and Rebecca.

“Natasha Romanov,” Natasha said, holding her hand out to Rebecca when neither man managed to be able to jump to the introduction. 

“Rebecca Barnes – are they always like this?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Natasha smiled as Clint sputtered. The four of them made their way downstairs, Bucky having a very hard time concentrating on anything other than the feel of Clint's hand brushing against his like he maybe wanted to hold it.

The piercing itself took almost no time at all, and before Bucky realized what was happening, they were heading back upstairs with a care sheet for Rebecca. Clint actually took his hand to squeeze it and apologize that he wouldn't be able to take them for some ice cream or coffee and snacks like he'd wanted to because he had another appointment shortly.

“You guys are going to have such cute babies together,” Rebecca said as the door closed behind them and Bucky turned to see Clint waving from the window.

“Shut up,” he said without even a hint of ire as he waved back.

“Jimmy and Clint sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g!” Rebecca sang as they walked back towards the subway.

 

 

~~

 

 

Clint was waiting at the counter for Bucky when he arrived at what was likely to be his second to last appointment. As always he looked excited to see Bucky, though there was a little something else today. Something that was making him almost vibrate with energy. He didn't elaborate or say much at all, really, until they'd made their way down to his station. 

 

“We're going to have a party next weekend, well, not the one a few days from now but the NEXT one,” Clint said. Bucky had never really heard him babble like that. It was adorable. “It's uh – it's to celebrate Daisy's first paying customer and to usher in summer properly.” He had been looking down at his hands at first and finally looked up to meet Bucky's gaze. “Would you...like to come? Everyone is bringing friends and family and whatnot and, you know, Daisy thinks you’re pretty cool.”

“Yeah?” It was really difficult to not grin like an idiot.

“Yeah...” Clint breathed out a laughing chuckle. “She might not be the only one.” His eyes glanced back down at the floor for a second, then up again. “I um...I can't...” His laugh was suddenly a little strangled sounding and Bucky shifted in concern, reaching out to place his hand on Clint's.

“Clint?”

“It's really unprofessional to get involved with a client. Really, really, unprofessional...” he glanced down at where Bucky's hand was touching his. “I broke that rule once before and it backfired on me pretty fucking spectacularly.”

Shit. Fuck. _Fuck_. Shit shit shit. Bucky's stomach was suddenly tying itself into knots. Was this some sort of break-up speech before they'd even dated?

“Clint, I-”

“No, wait, I...I just wanted to let you know that,” Clint said, bringing his free hand over to place on top of Bucky's. “I can't – we can't do anything yet and I really fucking hope I'm not overstepping anything by thinking there could be a ‘we.’”

“You very much are not overstepping,” Bucky assured him, gratified more than he could really say when Clint's expression calmed significantly at that.

“Good, good. Great...” Clint looked down at where they were holding hands. “If you want this, if you want there to be a 'we' and you're okay with waiting--”

“I'd wait as long as you needed me to,” Bucky replied without hesitation. He was, perhaps, a little surprised how quickly and easily the words came out, though not by how much he meant them. Clint had gotten under his skin so very quickly. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about him since they'd met and not just because he was gorgeous. But putting his feelings out there was still so fucking hard for him. Even taking away what the disastrous relationship with Rumlow had done to his emotional well-being, especially in regards to relationships, he'd generally tried to play things closer to the vest – at least since his accident anyway. “I _will_ wait as long as you need.” 

Clint's smile was blinding, expression joyful in a way Bucky hadn't seen before but desperately wanted to witness and be the cause of again. He squeezed Bucky's hand under his and said in a softly wondering voice, “How are you even real?”

“I kind of want to ask the same about you,” he replied with his own smile. It was silly and a little cliched in a rom-com way, but they just sat there for several minutes, grinning at each other. It wasn't that Bucky didn't have hope for his future before, he certainly did – professionally he was more than happy in a job with limitless potential and understanding coworkers and bosses and he certainly didn't want for friends – but this thing with Clint, or at least the potential for this thing with Clint, made him feel alive in a way he hadn't known he'd been missing.

“I should really start tattooing you at some point today,” Clint said, not letting go of Bucky's hand.

“Yeah, probably,” he agreed. “I mean if you don't, it could push the timetable off.”

“I really don't want to delay our first date longer than we have to.”

“Me either.” 

In the end, Clint worked for an additional hour longer than they'd originally scheduled for this appointment – just in case.

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

 

“You came!” Clint's grin was brighter than the sun had been outside as he greeted Bucky at the door. There was a brief awkward shuffle as they tried to figure out: do they shake hands? Stand awkwardly and stare? Hug? In the end, they swayed together for a brief hug, acutely aware of the discussion they'd had over a week ago as they did so, careful to not press against one another too closely despite wanting to. 

“Of course I came,” Bucky replied. “I made a promise.” Clint was still loosely holding his left hand, his thumb rubbing across the knuckles of Bucky's hand. It had to be an unconscious move on his part, and Bucky couldn't help but admit it was nice. “I wanted to be here for Daisy.”

It was probably a good thing no one was around to watch them standing there staring at each other with the most ridiculously besotted grins in the world.

“Barton! Stop flirting and get up here!” Darcy's voice called down the stairwell, breaking the moment and making them scramble up the stairs. Clint had let go of Bucky's hand, but he didn't seem to be able to keep himself from touching his lower back as they ascended to the third floor. Bucky found himself enjoying that far more than he likely should have.

Phil's apartment - or rather, flat, really - took up the entirety of the third floor of the brownstone. It was quite nice actually, the large wide-open living space that made up the majority of the apartment broken up by a privacy screen, which likely blocked off the bed, felt homey. Lived in, loved, and well cared for. Choice pieces of traditional art prints and pieces that looked to be designed by the artists from the shop sharing space with photos of the gang – his family. Off to the left from the door, Darcy was finishing something in the small but tidy kitchen, and Clint and Bucky both waved to her before Clint guided Bucky up the small spiral staircase to the roof.

“Beer cooler, soda cooler, other things cooler – Mikes and whatnot, Darcy probably has some wine coolers,” Clint pointed out. “Phil will be manning the grill for hot dogs, burgers, and veggie kabobs. I think you were last to arrive other than Phil's friend Nick and a few of his coworkers. Come on – I'll introduce you to everyone.”

Daisy had brought her boyfriend Trip and her friend Joey who sometimes worked the desk. Darcy had her friend Jane and Jane's intern/maybe Darcy's boyfriend (“I'm working on it!”) Ian. Jasper was hanging out with Phil and his mutual friend Melinda as well as the twins, who all seemed to be flying solo to the party. Natasha had brought her girlfriend Maria, which was who Bucky ended up with when Clint got called over to assist Phil at the grill. 

“You know, for some reason your name sounds so familiar,” Bucky admitted to Maria – a statuesque brunette with intricate Japanese traditional sleeves. 

“Funny story behind that,” Maria began as Phil returned to the roof with a bald black man...and Steve and Sam. “I work with Steve at Shield Security,” she finished with a smirk. 

“I think I might have to punch him.”

“To be fair, our boss Nick was the one that suggested you come here to get your ink. Steve's never come to one of these parties before so he doesn't know anyone.”

“I do have to wonder about Nick and Phil though,” Natasha said, gesturing with her bottle at the two of them. “Because they guided Maria here as well.” 

The three of them stared openly, their heads tilted just a little in curiosity. 

“I wouldn't say they look innocent exactly...” Maria began. 

“But then again, they don't look like little Jewish grandmas either,” Bucky concluded. 

“Just as long as they didn't want to hook either of you up with the butcher, I think we're okay. Clint would probably get a little too into the whole dream sequence with the deceased wife.” Natasha said as they continued to watch the two men. Phil seemed to be pretending to ignore them, and to be fair, their voices were probably not carrying all that far, but Nick just turned and smiled widely.

“That's a little scary,” Bucky said.

“You have no idea,” Maria replied. 

Steve was looking a little sheepish, so Bucky excused himself and made his way over.

“This was very last minute, I didn't know,” Steve said in lieu of a greeting. And he probably was telling the truth – he was a fairly terrible liar and his face looked authentically contrite. 

“You're fine.” Bucky rolled his eyes at the Golden Retriever-esque smile and expression he got in reply. “Besides, might as well introduce you two to Clint.” Who was still standing at the grill, pretending to not be paying attention to the three of them and failing. 

“He looks nervous – he got any reason to be?” Sam asked.

“Sam, behave.” Steve said. “Bucky probably talked about us is all.”

“That is true,” Sam nodded. “And it _is_ difficult to face this much gorgeous perfection in person. You're not too bad either,” he grinned at Steve.

“So modest.”

“It's what you love about me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes again at their antics but couldn't stop his smile as they made their way over to Clint. “So uh... Clint, this is Steve Rogers my oldest friend, and his partner Sam Wilson – he's okay.”

“Har har,” Sam grinned.

“Steve, Sam – this is Clint Barton.” Introducing him a his tattoo artist, though accurate, didn't seem enough. Friend also wasn't quite right, and though he was desperately hoping for it, he couldn't quite give him the label of boyfriend (or future boyfriend). He was just Clint for now. Clint, who was fast becoming as important to him as the two men at his side, looked a little nervous but still enthusiastically held his hand out. 

“It's great to finally meet you. Both of you. Bucky's told me some pretty funny stories.”

“Just wait until you hear our stories about him,” Sam said as they shook hands. 

“All great, of course. We promise.” Steve followed up.

“Oh really?” Clint's expression turned intrigued, with more than a hint of amusement, and Bucky suddenly became worried for an entirely different reason than he had been. No longer was he concerned that they would all get along, now he was more concerned they would get along too well.

“I'm never leaving the three of you alone together. Ever.”

 

 

~~

 

 

Everything was working out far better than Bucky had even thought to hope for. Clint got along with Steve and Sam (worryingly well with the latter – he was pretty sure by an hour into the party they were referring to each other as bird-bros and he wasn't entirely certain he wanted to know why or what it was all about.) The gang from Delta was as genuinely friendly as they were when he was at his appointments, so much so that he spent more time chatting with everyone else than he did Clint.

Clint was never out of his mind though; nor, he would wager, was he out of Clint’s if the amount of shared looks across the roof was anything to go by. Eventually they gravitated together at the edge of the roof. The sun had gone down, but the ambient light from the city and the lamps scattered around the roof were more than enough to make things comfortable. 

Bucky had paced himself – only two beers – and was on a water. Clint, who edged ever so nonchalantly into his space, was on his third if Bucky had counted right. His eyes were perfectly clear though and full of mirth – and perhaps something else.

“You look really good tonight,” Clint said. “The blue, it uh, it works well with your eyes.” There was a hint of a blush perhaps – it could have been the sun, but Bucky was pretty sure the color that stained his cheeks as he gave the compliment hadn't been there before. 

He'd like to say it was just a random shirt, but he had actually gone out to get a few new things to wear yesterday. He hadn't shopped for anything other than business casual work clothes in years. It had been...enjoyable if nerve-wracking. “Thank you.”

“I swear, I'm not usually so nervous – my moves are usually a lot better.”

“You do this often then?” Bucky was very careful to keep his tone playful; he didn’t want to come off like anything in Clint's dating history would be some sort of deal-breaker. 

“Well...maybe.” Clint smirked. “A time or two anyway.” He reached out to grab Bucky's hand, stroking lightly over his knuckles; and focused all of his attention on Bucky. “But not when it's been this important.”

“Alright,” Bucky drawled, leaning closer and basking in the little thrill of excitement running through his body. “That was a good line.” Clint smelled fantastic. Just a hint of sweat that mixed well with his cologne. 

“Yeah?” Clint's smile was wide and genuine and very, _very_ , devastating from up close. “Because I meant it, you know. This.” He brushed his fingers over Bucky's again. “Is important.”

Line or not, Bucky suddenly felt like he was a fumbling teenager in high school faced with his first crush and no idea what to do about it. Clint made him feel just a little off-kilter in the best way. “Your eyes are fucking stunning,” he ended up blurting. “They caught my attention right away...I think I could stare at them forever.” It was a line, but like Clint's, it was true – Bucky would very happily stare at the changeable kaleidoscope of colors that made up Clint's eyes all day long. 

“Did it hurt?” Clint asked, with the smallest of smiles.

“Did what hurt?” Bucky tilted his head to the side, wondering where this was going.

“When you fell from heaven. Because those blue eyes of yours belong to an angel.”

Bucky barked out a happy laugh. Yeah. This was a fun game. “So, it's been a while you said?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Dry spell huh?” Bucky smirked. “Good news, the forecast tonight calls for rain.” 

“Oh yeah?” And oh, Clint's responding quirk of lips was deliciously devious. “How many inches should I expect?”

Bucky very nearly face planted into Clint's chest, silent laughter wracking his body. Okay, Clint had turned that one around on him entirely too well. God he could see himself loving this man so easily.

“You look familiar,” he eventually managed to say to Clint. “Didn't we take a class together? I could have sworn we had chemistry.” Clint's responding laugh was the best kind of music.

“I know milk does a body good but baby how much have you been drinking?” Was Clint’s next entry, complete with waggling eyebrows and a long look up and down Bucky's body that made him flush.

“You know, there are people who say Disney is the happiest place on Earth,” Bucky began, casually reaching his hand out to rest on Clint's arm. “I beg to differ because clearly they've never been in your arms.”

“I'll hold you anytime you want,” Clint replied, a break from the game, but Bucky appreciated it all the same since it earned him one of Clint's strong hands stroking his side before resting on his hip. “Are you a camera? Because every time I look at you I smile.” 

“Are you a sucker for sad eyes?”

“Sometimes.”

“If I followed you home, would you keep me?” Bucky was so very pleased his voice didn't sound as vulnerable as it maybe could have when he said that. 

Clint leaned in closer and Bucky's head swam a little from the scent and heat of him, and he couldn't help but shiver when Clint whispered into his ear, “I'll keep you as long as you'll let me. Forever even, if I could.”

Bucky wanted that so very much he ached with it.

“The way you looked in my hoodie the other day? I forgot what I was doing for a second,” Clint said; one part line, one part admission. “I've never gotten hard at work before, but you...you tested that.”

“Yeah?” Bucky would have blushed at the breathy tone his voice had taken on, but this was still just a little game. 

“I want you in my clothes more often.” Clint said. 

“I'd be happy to wear them,” Bucky said as he reached up to finger at the collar of Clint's tee, teasing a little over his clavicle and watching with interest as gooseflesh broke out despite the warmth in the air. “But you know where they'd look best?”

“Where's that?” Clint's voice was huskier than it had been a moment ago and Buck felt a heady rush.

“On my bedroom floor.” It was one of the oldest lines in the world and a joke he made often with Steve and Sam, and yet. And yet.

“I really, _really_ , want to kiss you right now,” Clint murmured, eyes darting to Bucky's lips. 

And just like that, their little game was over – this was all serious. 

Bucky licked his lips, partly out of habit and partly to watch Clint's pupils dilate in response. “And I really _really_ want you to kiss me.”

“I fucking hate being a professional sometimes,” Clint murmured. 

He'd leaned closer still and Bucky could feel the breath from his words on his lips. They only had one session left. It was just a few days away. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad...

“Clinton! You owe me a dance!” Darcy's voice called out from across the roof. 

Clint's whine as he pulled away went straight to Bucky's groin, and he felt himself sway a little, wanting to follow the warmth of Clint's body.

“Soon,” Clint whispered fiercely, the heat of his hand pressed against Bucky's hip felt like a brand, and then he was gone, crossing the roof to meet Darcy. Bucky watched him go before turning to look back out over the city and try to get a hold himself. It had been a long time since he'd been that aroused and they hadn't even kissed. He was just feeling composed enough to maybe turn back around and face the party when someone cleared their throat. 

It was Phil.

“I'd say Darcy means well, but I don't think that will help,” he said, settling in next to Bucky when he nodded in acquiescence.

“No, it's fine. Probably for the best, actually. We agreed it would be best to wait.” He replied, smiling automatically when Chuck Berry's “You Never Can Tell” started up and Darcy and Clint began dancing. Because of course those two would do a recreation of the dance scene in Pulp Fiction. Of course. “We're not even going to dance tonight,” he elaborated. “And I fucking love to dance.”

They’d agreed during their last session, after talking about waiting, that there would be far too much temptation if they did something like dancing. It felt a little Pride and Prejudice-y. Like he would be Lizzie and Clint would be Mr. Darcy, daring to touch his bare hand to help him into the carriage and leaving him scandalized and turned on in turn if they dared to dance. To touch each other with deeper intent. 

“So does Clint,” Phil replied. “But I can see why you'd want to avoid temptation.”

Clint looked so good at that moment, flushed and smiling and moving to the music, that Bucky's palms itched to be able to grab his hips and pull him close. Promise to wait be damned. 

“He falls fast, you know,” Phil said a moment later. “Despite everything that's happened to him, he falls so fast. But I imagine he's told you a little about that.”

Bucky took a sidelong glance at Phil – quiet, unassuming Phil with the accountant looks and casual dad clothes that covered the badass tattoos (and history, from what he'd been able to glean via stories). “He's mentioned a little. Some bad choices he's made. What happened last time he'd gotten involved with a client.” He paused a moment before asking. “Is this a shovel talk, Phil?” It would make sense, he supposed, Phil was essentially Shop Dad to everyone there.

Phil just smiled and shook his head.

“No. Not really, anyway. Natasha would be the one to do that. Me? I'm just chatting.” Bucky's eyebrows probably telegraphed his disbelief at that with the way Phil was smirking. “I'm sure most people say this about their family, but, Clint's special. And we're all just glad to see him happy.”

Bucky nodded and smiled, ducked his head a little, glanced towards where Clint was laughing and dancing. 

“You too, by the way.”

“Hm?”

“It's good to see you happy too.”

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

 

“Hey,” Bucky said as Clint met him in the doorway upon his arrival for his final appointment. He was wearing a dusky blue shirt that looked so very soft Bucky couldn't help it – he reached out to touch, feeling the warmth of Clint's chest through the shirt, the jump of his muscles and the way his responding hello was lost in a sucked in breath.

“Sorry,” he breathed a moment later, pulling his hand away. “I don't--”

“It's okay,” Clint replied, catching his hand and holding it between them. “I don't mind.”

“This place is going to be so dull when you two resolve all that sexual tension,” Natasha said from behind the counter. Bucky felt his face heat but he met her smirking visage as calmly as possible.

“Don't worry Nat, I'm sure we'll still have plenty of smolder to share with you in the future,” Clint replied, sounding cheeky despite the look of chagrin on his face.

“Have fun fellas!” she called out to them as Clint tugged on his hand and led him down to the studio. Daisy was doing a tattoo with Phil keeping a careful eye on things and he nodded to them as they made their way over to Clint's station.

“I was thinking some soundtracks today, little more esoteric than Star Wars and Lord of the Rings. Maybe Pacific Rim and then run a few of the Battlestar Galacticas. I'll let you look things over during break and pick something to finish,” Clint rambled as he prepped things. Maybe his touches lingered a tiny bit longer than they had in the past, but he was careful to keep all contact strictly professional. Bucky didn't mind, not really. He had promised he would wait however long he needed to and he meant that. Plus – it had the added bonus of creating anticipation.

Thinking back to something he'd seen on Clint's desk, Bucky formulated a plan. “You know, I don't actually know Pacific Rim at all.”

“You don't?” There was just a hint of scandal in his disbelief and Bucky grinned to himself. 

“Wait, was it one of those robot movies from a few years ago? I think I saw a trailer, but it didn't seem all that interesting.”

Clint's reaction was priceless. He stared at Bucky for a moment, his mouth opening and closing a few times as if he didn't quite know how to voice his outrage. “Didn't look that interesting?!” He began gesturing. “Pacific Rim was amazing! It was a hopeful film with a multi-ethnic and racial cast where the countries of the world decided to band together to save it rather than the usual drivel where everyone bumbles around until 'Murrica storms in to save the day.”

Clint continued to rant - about the cast, about the plot, about the art and design and the homages to classic kaiju films, and all the while Bucky felt this deep swell of affection rise within him. It wasn't just a physical attraction he had to Clint, he was definitely falling in love with him.

Bucky made it about fifteen seconds after the end of the rant before he broke into a grin. “You are really, really attractive when you're passionate and annoyed. You're going to win so many arguments; it's kind of unfair.”

Clint narrowed his eyes and his mouth kept twitching between a scowl and a smirk. “You.” He leveled a finger at Bucky. “Are evil. And I'd really love to kiss that smirk off your face.”

“Yeah, that's probably how all our arguments are going to end.” And Bucky’s grin turned very saucy as he finished with, “And I’m very much looking forward to that to be honest.” The color on Clint's cheeks was charming as hell and Bucky decided not to tell him how his mind had then quickly turned to thinking about makeup sex.

He wasn't really looking forward to fighting with Clint, but man he was willing to bet the makeup sex would be _phenomenal_.

 

 

~~

 

 

Bucky spent the first two hours of the appointment watching the film (he could see why Clint loved it) while Clint smiled, frowned, and muttered along with it, even going so far as to pause in his work occasionally to watch Bucky's reactions to certain scenes. 

If not for the tattooing, it would have felt a lot like a date.

And then, several hours later, Clint turned his machine off and set it down before leaning back with a sigh. Bucky didn't have words to adequately describe the look on his face. Contentment for certain, the satisfaction of a job well done he'd wager. A little sadness maybe? Could it be that since he'd been working on this so long it was hard to finally finish it up?

“You ready to see it all put together?” Clint's voice was a little shy sounding, as if Bucky wouldn't love what he'd done.

“Yeah.” He allowed Clint to help him to his feet and they walked over to the tall mirror along the wall.

“May I?” Clint asked, gesturing to the sleeve of Bucky's tee. He nodded and Clint's hand brushed against his upper arm as he raised the sleeve up the rest of his arm, exposing the tattoo from the ball of his shoulder on down, and then he guided Bucky so he was in front of the mirror with Clint behind him.

Once again Bucky found himself at a loss for words. And the sudden swirl of emotions as he took in his arm felt like a punch to the gut – but one that he enjoyed. He hadn't allowed himself to look at the full effect of the tattoo in the mirror for the last few sessions. Yeah, he saw it all the time close up, it wasn't like he just didn't look at his arm (Clint's work was too stunning to not stop and stare at) but he hadn't wanted to spoil the full reveal of the finished product. He was so glad he'd done things that way. “I don't...” he swallowed against the lump in his throat and blinked at the sudden burning in his eyes.

Somehow Clint had managed to make his arm look like living metal. It didn't just look like armor, which is how some sleeves had appeared in his research, but metal gears and plates that had been incorporated into his body (seamless and beautiful and without the body horror aspect he'd completely wanted to avoid – he had enough of that with his actual prosthetic). Best of all was that, looking at it from an engineers point of view, Bucky could even see how there hadn't been any bits drawn for pure fluff. It looked like it would actually _work_ if it were real and not just an image on his skin.

“It's amazing... I don't...I don't know how I could ever thank you for this.” He turned so that he was facing Clint, noting idly that the hand that had been holding his shirtsleeve up allowed the sleeve to fall but remained on his shoulder.

“I know I said it before, but I have to thank you again for choosing me. Trusting me. You...” he moved his hand from Bucky's shoulder to brush against his neck and jawline. “I don't know if you believe it yet, but you are one of the most beautiful people I've met. And I don't just mean the James Dean looks, but also this.” He pressed his hand to Bucky's chest, splaying his fingers over his heart. “If I've helped you believe that again even a little bit I'm the lucky one.”

Bucky had no idea what sort of noise he made as he stepped into Clint, embracing him completely with his left arm and very carefully putting as much of his right against him as he could while keeping the fresh ink from touching him. He sighed heavily as Clint's arms circled him, one hand stroking up and down his back in a soothing manner. 

“Most tattoo sessions don't end like this, do they?” Bucky asked, voice more shaky than he was comfortable with. He hoped Clint could hear him okay from where he had his head tucked in against him.

“Not usually. But that's okay. I'm kinda sorta giving you special treatment here anyway. It might be because I'm a little sweet on you. Don't tell my boss.” There was a gently teasing tone in Clint's voice that helped Bucky relax even more and he was finally able to pull away. 

“I won't. Scout’s honor,” Bucky said, his smile more confident than he had been a moment before. “Also – sweet on me? What are you, fifty?” He maybe was covering his emotions with teasing bravado, but he didn't think Clint would mind or call him out on it.

“I'll have you know it's a very common phrase still,” Clint replied, taking his hand to lead him back to his station where he applied ointment and the bandage.

“Maybe in the bingo hall.”

“Listen to the sass I put up with,” Clint sighed and shook his head, but his smile remained fond. “Okay, so, you know the drill re: aftercare and all that, but maybe swing by in a month or so and we can take a look and see if it needs any touch-ups or corrections or anything.”

“I can do that,” Bucky nodded and then, feeling brave, added, “But I was really hoping to see you again sooner than that.” Clint's responding smile made his heart flip. 

“I have Sunday off as a matter of fact.”

“Funny coincidence. So do I.”

“I've got a friend that has a little cafe – we could do brunch? Say around 11? I'll text you the address.” Clint bit his lip nervously. It made Bucky feel better that he wasn't the only one that was nervous.

“It's a date.”

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

 

The lead-up to their first (actual, legitimate) date was filled with Clint sending all sorts of texts to Bucky. 

CB: Do you have any food allergies?

CB: What kinda foods do u like?

CB: Anything you really hate?

CB: Coffee? Tea? Me? J/k (not really)

CB: But really coffee vs tea? Both? Either?

CB: Hot? Cold?

CB: Ur not weird about fish, are you?

CB: Not like as a food (tho that too) but like Mythbusters Grant is?

CB: You like Mythbusters, right? I mean – tech and science and explosions!

CB: This date will not involve explosions 

CB: Well not actual ones. I have high hopes for potential kissing and metaphorical explosions from them

CB: Look at me using the big words

BB: Ten points to Hufflepuff

CB: Woot!

CB: Also – nerd

BB: Pot, kettle. You understood that ref

CB: Smartypants

BB: Prefect Smartypants, thanks

CB: Ravenclaws... 

CB: ;)

 

 

~~

 

 

They met up outside of ‘No one likes you when you're hangry’ at 11am, Clint wearing a faded t-shirt and jeans, the ink on his legs peeking out here and there from some artful tears. Bucky had opted for a similar outfit, though his jeans had no tears. They did hug his thighs rather nicely though, and he was gratified to see that Clint noticed, his eyes trailing up and down appreciatively. 

“Hey, you found it,” Clint said, going for a handshake and letting out a little 'oh' in pleased surprise when Buck pulled him in for a hug. The hug lingered perhaps a touch too long, but Bucky was loathe to let Clint go now that he could touch and hold him. He was pretty sure the feeling was mutual as Clint's hands slowly dragged along his back and side, pausing briefly at his hips before drifting away when they finally separated. 

“Been past here a few times, glad to finally try it,” he replied, giving a little smile and nod when Clint raised a brow to ask if holding hands on their way in was okay. He followed silently as Clint lead the way inside, surprisingly steering away from the coffee bar and towards the tea bar instead. A man with curly hair and a quiet demeanor smiled as they approached.

“You must be Bucky Barnes. I'm Bruce, I run the place. And I have to say it's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Did you gush to everyone about me?” he teased Clint after shaking Bruce's hand, secretly pleased that he had warranted such attention. 

“A few people?” Clint replied, scratching at the back of his head with his free hand. 

“Clint's a regular here, comes in to work on his art quite often,” Bruce explained. “And I have to say that's some of the best I've seen from him,” he nodded to Bucky's arm.

“That's uh – that's partly due to the canvas.” Clint was blushing ever so slightly. Bucky was pretty sure the adoring look he was giving Clint would embarrass him if he could see it for himself. 

“Why don't the two of you settle yourselves in the back room and I'll bring the first wave in?” Bruce offered with a kind smile, as if they weren't standing like two tweens on their first date - all awkward affection and nerves. 

“Back room huh?” Bucky said as Clint led him deeper into the shop, down a small staircase and into a room marked 'Private.' It was a beautiful little space with several comfortable benches and small tables surrounding a pond with a small waterfall in the center. Upon closer inspection, he finally understood why Clint asked if he was weird about fish – a small school of koi was lazily swimming around the water feature. 

“I come here to draw a lot, as Bruce said. He's good about letting me use this space. Doesn't charge or anything. It's...peaceful. Quiet. I mean, yeah I can remove my ears for “quiet” but this place – this place is different. Special. I can let my mind wander. No worries or distractions. It's safe.”

With the way he spoke about the space, the quiet shyness as if sharing something important, it made Bucky wonder if he was the first person Clint had ever taken there on a date. 

“Thank you for bringing me here. Sharing this. I love it.” Clint's pleased smile as he guided Bucky into a seat and took the one across from him made him all the more sure he was correct.

“I'm glad you like it.”

Bruce swept into the room soon after they sat with what Bucky learned was the first course of the meal: A variety of savory mini tarts and pastries and a selection of two warm teas. 

“So I wasn't sure exactly what to do – I hope this is okay?” Clint asked, rubbing his hands against his thighs under the table after Bruce had left.

“I think it's wonderful,” Bucky replied with a smile as he selected a few tarts to try.

The second course arrived with a variety of finger sandwiches and two different teas, served cold this time. 

For some reason, despite his anxiety about attempting to begin a romantic relationship again given how his last one had ended, Bucky hadn't had any worries that he and Clint would lack for things to talk about, and it was nice to have that faith pan out. He was having a blast. The same quick wit and easy smiles Clint had shared during his tattoo sessions was on display now. Spending time with Clint outside the parlor left him feeling warm and happy and, perhaps more importantly, excited about the future.

The final course, desserts, arrived with a collection of petit fours, macarons, madeleines, and two warm teas again, and Bucky felt a tiny bit of disappointment creep in that the afternoon of laughing and snacking would soon be coming to an end. 

Clint, of course, had other ideas.

“Remember when I asked about the fish?” Clint said, taking a small bag between his fingers and waving it lightly.

“Yeah?”

“How'd you like to feed them?”

They washed their hands and Clint led him over to a bench along the pond, scattering some of the feeding pellets from the bag Bruce had provided before they sat down. It was fascinating, watching the colorful swirl of fish bob and weave around each other as they chased after the food, the popping noises as they gulped in air along with the pellets on the surface eliciting a grin.

“They'll brush up against your arm if you put it in the water. Sometimes they'll nibble at your fingers too, but they don't have teeth in their mouths, so it tickles more than anything,” Clint explained as they watched them eat. His expression fell moments later and he frowned. “And I just realized you definitely can't stick your right arm in with that fresh ink.”

Bucky raised his prosthetic arm. “She's completely waterproof - I don't have to take it off to shower or swim.”

“How are...” Clint paused and gently caught hold of his left hand, turning it palm up in his lap. “I never asked because I wasn't sure – can you feel anything with it? Is that insensitive of me? I mean, sometimes with my ears I know--”

“It's fine,” Bucky assured him. “With you at least, I don't mind the question.” Because Clint's question came from a genuine curiosity, and not just random morbid fascination. “As Data might say, I am fully functional.” He loved the little grin Clint gave for that reference. “Well, mostly functional anyway. SI's made some pretty big leaps with the technology and not just in the looks and functionality of prosthesis. This is a special prototype, it's uh, it's wired into my nervous system. I can feel a lot with it. I'd say anywhere from 60-75% of what my right arm can anyway. They're still perfecting things, of course.”

“Is it just pressure and temperature?” Clint asked, even as he began slowly sliding his thumb across Bucky's palm. 

Bucky’s breath quickened.

“It's uh, pressure and temperature yeah, but more than that. Different textures...I can feel the ridges of your thumb for instance. But the bigger leap, the important one is the feelings, emotional I mean, behind the touches.”

“Go on?”

“Because I want you to be touching me, it feels pleasurable, just like it would if you touched my right hand.” Touch and emotions were linked far more than most people thought about or, in fact, likely knew. The fact that SI had been able to establish the proper connections were what made his arm so special. Bucky didn’t really want to go as far as to say the lack of social touch on his prosthetic was as bad for him as the lack of parental touch was to a newborn, but he couldn’t say it was smooth sailing for him either.

“Is this...can I?” Clint asked as he began to raise Bucky’s left hand up towards his face. 

“I don't...no one has...” Bucky shivered unconsciously as he felt the first traces of Clint’s breath ghosting over his fingertips.

“I don't want to fetishsize...” 

“Please?” Bucky almost didn't recognize his own voice and it barely registered that he was holding his breath as Clint raised his palm to his lips to press a chaste kiss against it. He was helpless against letting out a soft “Oh,” at the feel of Clint's lips, his hand flexing slightly and brushing the tips of his fingers against Clint's face in unconscious reaction. He could feel the curve of Clint's smile against his hand, the swirl of his breath against his fingers. In the next instant he was sliding his hand back to curl under Clint's ear and pull him forward into a kiss. A simple press of lips against lips over and over until he adjusted his thumb, brushing it against Clint's ear causing him to moan quietly and open his mouth to Bucky. It was exquisite, that first taste after wanting it for so long. They traded slow drugging kisses and hot needy ones back and forth for an undetermined amount of time before Clint gentled things back down, pressing soft kisses to Bucky's lips again and again as they leaned together, sharing a breath. 

“That was...” Clint sounded as out-of-breath as Bucky felt.

“Yeah.”

“We really need to do that again.”

“God, yes.” And Bucky was just about to close the minuscule distance between them when someone cleared their throat behind them.

“Dates going well, I see.” Bruce sounded both pleased and amused, and the two of them pulled apart with faint blushes, glancing alternately up at Bruce in rather sheepish manners and shyly at one-another. 

“Pretty good,” Clint agreed, looking into Bucky's eyes. 

“I've got no complaints,” he agreed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware that as Bucky and Clint begin to become more physically intimate Bucky begins to think (and talk) more about his experiences with Rumlow. There are no flashbacks, nor do I go in depth, but the references are more direct. See ends notes for more details if you think this may bother you.

 

 

 

Where their first date had been rather quickly scheduled, they found it difficult to repeat that feat. They texted constantly and Skyped when they had a little extra time, but it never felt like enough. 

“You know I really wanted to impress you with something cool or fancy, but right now I'd settle for just dinner and a movie,” Clint said. His face was half smushed against his pillow – it was late and they both really should have been trying to go to sleep.

“You know you don't have to do anything special to impress me right?” Bucky replied.

“You say that now, but wait until I pull out my best moves in the bedroom,” Clint teased with a waggle of his eyebrows. He was so ridiculous that it shouldn't be sexy.

It totally was.

“To be honest though, I'd be happy just to sleep with you. Like nothing sexy. Well. Maybe _some_ sexy.” Clint smiled. “Not that I don't want you. Because I do. Want you so badly.”

“Yeah?” Bucky's eyes were drawn to the way Clint's teeth had pressed against his lip after the pronouncement, as if just stating how much he wanted Bucky made him have to check himself. Bucky was still a little lost on how to react to that. There were times with Rumlow, at the start of the relationship, where he'd felt like he was wanted. Desirable. That hadn't lasted.

“Yeah. Not sharing our first orgasm over the phone though. Just not right, you know? Should be in person.” Clint's expression was charmingly bashful at that. 

“No, I agree. ‘Sides – much as I want you as well,” and he did very much want Clint. It was a bit of a surprise given how little thought he'd given to sex since breaking up with Rumlow. He'd half begun to wonder if he just wouldn't be all that interested in intimacy anymore for the remainder of his life. Hell, before late March he'd rarely jerked off all that often. And then a kind and altogether far too sexy tattoo artist entered his life and his libido had slowly began to return. “I'm too damn tired right now for much of anything. Especially if I have to do all the work myself,” he finished with a wink. 

“Hey now – I'm all sorts of great at talking a good game.”

“You think you could make me come with just the sound of your voice?” Bucky asked.

“I'd be willing to give it a try,” Clint replied, his smile turning a little devilish. 

It was an intriguing idea, and one that Bucky mentally added to the list of things he wanted to do with Clint, even if it had been mostly a tease.

“I suppose making a comment about seeing how good your mouth is at other things would just keep us on a topic we'd agreed to stay off of huh?” Bucky asked a moment later.

“Yeah, pretty much. But good instincts,” Clint smiled in reply.

They drifted off to other topics then, Clint catching Bucky up on the latest from the shop and Bucky sharing his own office gossip. How different would it be if they were sharing a bed right then? Would they still be chatting like this as they lay facing each other, their legs perhaps tangling under the covers? Would they have exhausted topics over dinner and lounging on the couch in front of the television, leaving them content to spoon together and drift off to sleep? 

The idea of being able to do all of those things excited Bucky just as much as the idea of sex, no, making love (he was pretty sure it wouldn't _just_ be sex with Clint) did.

Eventually Clint's eyes began to droop a little more and more often, and on Bucky’s end Pickles kept casting incredibly disgruntled looks at him from her spot curled against his chest, so Bucky suggested they call it a night.

“Have a good day making people look prettier and more badass,” he said.

“Only if you go be super fucking smart and make the world a better place with your brain,” Clint replied.

“Night.”

“G'night.”

“Don't forget your ears,” Bucky reminded Clint, who smiled and promised he wouldn't. “Night,” Bucky said again, feeling no small amount of wonder at how easily he almost followed it up with 'I love you.'

 

 

~~

 

 

Twelve days after their first date (not that Bucky was counting) they managed to have dinner together and catch a movie. It was a Thursday night showing, but still busy enough that neither of them felt comfortable making out in the back like they half wanted to. At least the film itself was good – the latest superhero franchise film – so they settled for holding hands and the occasional kiss here and there. A final lingering kiss before catching the subway would have to tide them over. 

Their next date got postponed when an “all hands on deck” emergency occurred at SI giving Bucky all sorts of overtime (including an entire Sunday – which Tony Stark honestly hated asking of any of his employees, compensating them far more than adequately and calling in favors from popular chefs to cater their lunch). Then Darcy got the flu so Clint had to pick up a few shifts for her. The weekend following that, Clint was away at a convention. 

It was silly really, especially so early in the actual relationship, but it hurt a little to think he hadn't seen Clint in person in weeks.

 

 

~~

 

 

“I've got a lunch delivery for Clint Barton,” Bucky smirked as he came into the parlor. The heavy teasing he'd gotten for taking the long lunch was more than worth it when he saw Clint look up in surprise from his spot behind the counter. 

“Bucky?” Clint's surprised expression quickly morphed into one of pure joy as he hastily rushed around the counter and literally picked Bucky up in a fierce hug. 

“It's like you missed me or something,” Bucky teased after a quick kiss. 

“Every minute of every day,” Clint replied then flushed faintly. “Too much?”

“No. Just right.” They shared lingering smiles for a moment before Wanda cleared her throat and tilted her head towards the stairs.

“Go. Enjoy lunch.”

They did not giggle like teenagers as they made their way up the stairs, though they may have rushed a little. As soon as the door was shut Bucky dropped the bag and backed Clint into the wall, kissing him deeply, reveling in the way he gave in and let Bucky do what he wanted. He hadn't had that in so long.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

They stood pressed together but not kissing, simply breathing and enjoying the closeness, for several minutes. Eventually they moved to the couch, knees knocking together and arms bumping and brushing occasionally in companionable silence as they ate. 

“What time are you due back?” Clint asked as they leaned back together after finishing.

“I can push it for about another twenty minutes,” Bucky replied, allowing a note of disappointment to enter his voice. It had seemed like so much longer when he'd planned it all out. Now, with Clint so close, twenty minutes didn't seem like nearly enough time. Clint made a noise of acknowledgment, then rubbed his nose against Bucky's cheek until he couldn't help but laugh. They'd figure out a time for their next date. It would just take a little more work. 

“You want to make out for a while?” Clint asked, waggling his brows in a joking manner.

Bucky pulled his head back a little and tilted it to better look at Clint. God, he was lovely. Some people would scoff at his word choice, but he couldn't help it. He reached up with his left hand to stroke a finger down Clint's cheek, marveling at the sensation and how Clint closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. 

“I really want to kiss you again.”

“Please,” Clint replied, leaning in closer. “Anything you want.”

There were a lot of things Bucky wanted, and more still that he was a little confused or unsure about, but everything tended to vanish into the background when he was kissing Clint. Though they'd yet to have sex and the physical aspect of the relationship was still very new, he never felt anything other than cherished and wanted. Loved even, though he was sure people would question something like that so early in the relationship.

When Clint looked at him, he felt attractive again and confident in his looks in a way Rumlow had never made him feel. He wasn't sure he'd ever felt that way even before he'd lost his arm. It was heady and wonderful, and he had a difficult time not getting swept up in it. 

For instance, the way that some simple kissing on the couch had suddenly turned into a make-out session with him climbing into Clint's lap, his broad hands stroking up and down Bucky's back. The touch was electrifying, even through his shirt, and Bucky was quite certain he'd never get enough of Clint's hands on him.

“God, your fucking thighs,” Clint said, moving his hands to stroke up and down Bucky's legs while pressing haphazard kisses to his neck. “I've never been so turned on by someone's thighs,” he continued with feeling, squeezing harder on an upstroke and causing Bucky to moan. 

“Yeah?” His face was flushing, his ears felt like they were on fire, but he wanted to hear more. He needed to know.

“Yeah,” Clint muttered against his lips, their kisses had become a little less coordinated. “Wanna feel them wrap around me when I fuck you. Wanna feel them flexing as you fuck me.”

“Shit. Shit.” Bucky had gone blindingly hard in the blink of an eye at Clint's words. Clint chuckled low in his throat and kissed and nipped at his lips. 

“Wanna slide my hands up 'em, ease 'em apart, and feel them press against me while I suck you down.”

Bucky tightened his hand probably too hard in Clint's hair in order to yank him into a brutal kiss. It earned him the most exquisite little whine and caused Clint's hands to squeeze his ass.

“You want to blow me?” Bucky panted against Clint, so glad his voice didn't sound as vulnerable as he felt.

“Wanna worship you. Memorize the feel of you on my tongue, how you taste--” 

There was another definite whine when Bucky kissed Clint to stop the flow of his words, and he was surprised when he figured out it had been from him. He felt a little like he was about to shake apart into thousands of tiny pieces and not because of an orgasm. Was it just Clint that made him feel this way? Would he still feel like this had things not been as fucked up with Rumlow? Would anyone else make him have the same reaction? 

The conflicting swirl of his emotions must have been transmitting through his body language because a moment later Clint stilled under him and Bucky was torn between sighing in relief for the breather and trying to engage more strongly. 

“Hey, hey. Shhh baby, shhh.” Clint ever so carefully and gently slid a hand to curl against the side of Bucky's face, gentling the kisses and giving them both a little air.

“Sorry,” Bucky breathed against him, foreheads still pressed together. “Sorry, it's just...been a while. You know?” He wasn't about to admit that Rumlow had never given him oral. He'd claimed at first it just wasn't something he liked to do (though Bucky was expected to give it to him) but in the end Bucky figured it was just his cock Rumlow wanted nothing to do with. 

“Hey, it's okay.” Clint stroked his cheek and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “You don't need to apologize at all either – we both got a little carried away. Hard for me not to when I've got a lap full of you.” This time the kiss was pressed to the tip of Bucky's nose. “I mean, I don't necessarily mind coming in my pants and I've got a change of clothes, but...” Clint's smile was a little shy. “I want more for our first time together, remember? I mean, I know it probably sounds silly, but I do. Something more than a quickie.” Clint’s smile was genuine, despite the bashful cast to his gaze. That was the second time Clint had mentioned he wanted something more, something special, from their first time. 

Bucky leaned back a little and scratched his nails through the hairs at Clint's nape just to watch him sigh and close his eyes in pleasure. “I adore you. So very much.” The startled pleasure present as Clint's eyes reopened made Bucky's heart beat double-time for an entirely different reason.

“I'm pretty fucking fond of you too,” Clint replied. 

The next kiss they shared was deep and full of feeling, but not set on titillating, and when they pulled apart it was to rest their foreheads together again and simply bask in the shared space. Eventually Bucky's phone alarm went off and they extracted themselves from the embrace. They held hands back down the stairs, and then exchanged a few last lingering presses of lips against lips before parting regretfully at the door.

 

 

~~

 

 

CB: I have fantastic news!

CB: well, *I think it's pretty fantastic

BB: ??

BB: Baited breath here Barton

CB: How would you like to have an actual date with yours truly this coming Wed?

BB: What?

BB: Did you have a cancellation?

BB: Nothing's wrong at work, right?

CB: Works all good

CB: Jasper is throwing me a bone. Doing me a solid.

CB: Insert sexual innuendo of your choice here

CB: Legit he said helping me get laid

CB: He's such an ass

BB: But we love him?

CB: We totally do

BB: Imma get him a muffin basket

CB: Maybe wait a bit 'cause then I might have to fight him for you

BB: Platonic muffins

BB: I only have eyes for you 

CB: are the stars out tonight

CB: I don't know if it's cloudy or bright

CB: ;)

BB: Dork

CB: Your dork

BB: 6ish okay? At my place?

CB: Perfect to both

BB: See you then

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> re: Rumlow's abusive nature, he would insult Bucky for use of dirty talk and refused to reciprocate oral sex.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware that as Bucky and Clint begin to become more physically intimate Bucky begins to think (and talk) more about his experiences with Rumlow. There are no flashbacks, nor do I go in depth, but the references are more direct. See ends notes for more details if you think this may bother you.

 

 

 

It was ridiculous how nervous Bucky was for this date. It wasn't their first one and they'd already shared their first kiss too, so maybe it was the very real possibility they would finally sleep together? He'd never had any hangups about sex before – well, before he'd lost his arm. Before Rumlow. 

But Clint wasn't Rumlow. Clint was kind and caring and all around amazing. And while Bucky wanted him very badly and he knew Clint felt the same, he also knew that if he had to back out Clint would be okay with it. 

“Okay – how do I look?” He did a turn in front of Pickles who obediently gazed up at him. He was wearing a dark blue button down shirt and inky colored jeans that Sam had helped him pick out (“Your booty isn't as good as mine – these will help”).

“Mreow-ow,” she replied, padding over to rub against his jean-clad leg. 

“Aw, thanks.” He bent over to rub her ears, then straightened and eased his palms down his thighs. Dinner was pretty much set – he just had the last minute cooking to do when Clint arrived. The table was set and he'd already had several long talks with Pickles about the fact he was bringing someone new over and vaguely introduced the two of them over Skype. He was eternally grateful Clint had never once seemed mocking or weird about his relationship with his cat. She was just so uncomplicated compared to most people, and she loved him no matter how he was feeling.

The buzzer went off and Bucky flinched despite knowing it would happen. He buzzed Clint upstairs and stood at the door. “Okay. Okay. Here we go.”

“Mreow.”

He glanced down to smile at Pickles and then there was a knock at the door. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door. Clint smiled at him, open and inviting, and Bucky really just wanted to lean against him and breathe because just the sight of him made the tension drain away.

“You look amazing,” Clint said, giving him a long lingering once over. 

“You too,” Bucky replied, eyeing the fitted purple tee, black waistcoat, and black jeans. Clint, in his opinion, didn't need any help highlighting his fantastic ass, but those pants were doing a damn fine job anyway. 

“So I brought you these,” Clint handed over a bouquet of yellow roses and morning glories, with a single red chrysanthemum in the center. Bucky made a mental note to look up the meanings later. Clint wasn't the type to pick flowers at random. “And I snagged dessert along the way. Nothing fancy, just some mochi from down the street,” he explained, digging into his messenger bag as Bucky guided him inside and shut the door. 

“It'll be great, thank you.” He watched idly as Clint toed off his Docs and then reached into his messenger bag again. 

“I uh...I hope this is okay.” He held up a cat toy. “I know how important she is to you, so I wanted to get off on the right foot.”

Bucky's throat felt a little thick, and he had to take a second because how the fuck did he get this lucky? “You are going to come so very hard later.” 

“Yeah?” Clint grinned at him.

“Yes.”

Clint winked at Bucky, causing him to blush, before glancing down towards Pickles. Eventually, he eased himself into a crouch and held his hand out. “Hey Pickles, it's good to meet you.” 

Sam had once joked that Pickles was a sniper like her owner had been with the way she would sometimes scope things out from on high when meeting new people. Today though she was still on the ground, standing patiently by Bucky’s legs as if to support him, and watching Clint closely, whiskers twitching. Checking things out, getting the lay of the land. As soon as Clint said her name and reached his hand out though she ambled over, sniffing delicately at him. After a moment she seemed to approve, arching her back up into his hand as if to say 'You may pet me, new human.'

“I'll put these in water and let you two get acquainted,” Bucky said, stepping into the kitchen to put the mochi in the freezer and to find one of the vases his mother had insisted he needed back when he'd moved in. He listened with only half an ear as Clint spoke quietly to his cat, and he tried not to smile like an idiot. Things were going so well already. By the time he returned with the flowers in their vase, Clint was standing and cradling Pickles in his arms and clucking softly to her as he rubbed a thumb under her chin. He grinned at Bucky.

“She jumped up on my knee – well, after making a face – I think she smelled Lucky. But yeah, she's quite the little climber.”

“Pickles, did you climb on Clint?”

“Reeeerw,” she replied.

“Those are his nice date clothes, sweetie. No claws.”

“Rooow.”

“I don't mind,” Clint replied, lowering himself to gently let Pickles go (she immediately twined around his legs and rubbed her cheeks against him - a sure sign of her approval). “She didn't use her claws.”

“That's good.” Bucky replied, stepping closer. Gravity seemed to work differently when he was around Clint – it always pulled Bucky towards him. “I'm a little jealous she got to climb you when I haven't.”

Clint laughed into the kiss, settling his hands at Bucky's hips. “All in good time, baby. All in good time.”

“Baby, hm?” Bucky nuzzled against Clint's nose with his own and pressed another kiss to his lips. Clint had used the endearment a few times already. Bucky hadn't always been one for pet names, but he thought he could get used to it.

“Y'want a different endearment?” Clint captured his lips again and added a little tongue.

“Baby's good,” Bucky breathed against him when they separated. A few more gentle swipes of lips against lips and then they separated – mostly anyway. They probably walked a little too close together and bumped against one another more than they needed to on their way into the kitchen, but neither of them really minded. Even Pickles said nothing as she danced around their legs until she seemed to recall the new toy Clint had presented to her and vanished off into the other room to find it again.

“Do you want me to do anything?” Clint asked, leaning against the counter next to the stove. 

“Well I'd say just stand there and look sexy, but that might be a little distracting and I don't want to ruin dinner.”

“You find me distracting?” Clint ever so casually shifted so his arms were on prime display.

“Stop it.” Bucky raised an eyebrow and brandished his spoon at Clint who simply laughed in reply. They made small talk as Bucky finished the stir fry and then sent Clint off to grab the plates so he could dish it up. 

“Smells amazing,” Clint said as they sat across the little table from each other. “I love to cook myself, but man, I don't feel like I have the time for it, you know?”

“I suppose my schedule does lend itself a little better to it than yours,” Bucky replied, then smiled and rolled his eyes as Clint made noises of enjoyment. 

“M'not exaggerating, swear,” Clint said after another appreciative noise. “If you've never had anyone react like this then they don't deserve your culinary skills. Because even simpler dishes can be done poorly and this – this is damn good.”

Bucky smiled again and ducked his head in pleased embarrassment. Even if he was perhaps laying things on a little thick, he could tell that Clint was sincere on some level. It was nice to be appreciated. 

“So, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I'd really love to know the story behind how you met Phil and Natasha. I keep getting hints, but...”

“It's fine. I don't mind. Not really.” Clint took a pull from his beer. “So uh...after the circus I was homeless for a while.”

“Shit. How old were you?”

“Seventeen.” Clint shrugged, like it meant nothing. “Anyway, I met Phil because he's a do-gooder. Was volunteering at shelters and the like while he was tattooing at a different shop – building up a good customer base and portfolio to open his own. I didn't trust too easily back then, but Phil just had this way about him. Pretty sure he would have adopted me if he could have. Kinda think he did, actually,” he chuckled. 

“Anyway we kept running into each other, and he kept giving me art supplies and stuff and kept anything I finished so I wouldn't lose it. So that went on about a year or so I guess. Time really runs together when you're homeless and uh, I was walking somewhere – I can't even remember where to tell the truth... And I heard this noise in an alley. It was a group of guys hassling a woman and well, you can't walk away from that, you know?”

“It was Natasha in the alley,” Bucky concluded and Clint nodded. “You said you heard them...” He sat back abruptly with the dawning realization that the timeline fit. “That's when you lost your hearing.”

“Yeah,” Clint half-shrugged. “I mean, at least, that's when I lost it for good anyway. My dad...he wasn't a good man, and I lost it temporarily a few times when I was a kid. The doctor said it was really only a matter of time and the right kind of hit before, _poof_. Gone.” His smile was bittersweet and his expression proud in a way when he said, “I mean at least this way I got my sister out of it.”

“I had no idea...” Bucky reached his hand out to Clint's and squeezed it.

“It's okay. It's fine. I don't...” Clint let out a breath. “I don't like to talk about it too much, but you...” He turned his hand over under Bucky's, brushing his fingers over the underside of his wrist. “I wanted you to know it.”

Bucky nodded his acknowledgment and brought Clint's hand up for a kiss, then smiled as Clint turned the tables and pulled their joined hands back so he could kiss Bucky's.

“Since uh...since we're sharing,” Bucky began after they had let their hands fall apart. “I've only been with one person since I lost my arm.” Something in his voice gave his hesitance away and Clint reached out across the table to take his hand again.

“Not a good one?” 

Bucky shook his head. “His name was Brock Rumlow.”

“Brock Rumlow,” Clint said, puffing out his chest and using a weird voice.” Kinda sounds like the name of a jerk.”

“Well, you're not wrong.” Boy was he not wrong. “We met in Bethesda. He was finishing up some PT for skin grafts on these burns he had when I was in for my arm. He was a really great guy at first,” Bucky trailed off. There really hadn't been any hints Rumlow would treat him the way he had. Not really. He'd wondered for a while if maybe he'd just been too out of it - too shell-shocked, too _changed_ to pick up on the signs. It had taken some time before he could admit to himself that he couldn't really change anything about what had happened. He hadn't missed anything. Men like Rumlow were very good at masking their nature until they'd pulled you into their snare. 

Even Sam and Steve hadn't noticed anything. 

It hadn't been Bucky's fault.

He was still working on believing that some days. It was getting easier though.

“I thought it was just a nice coincidence he was moving to New York as well.”

“Did he stalk you?” The quiet fury in Clint's voice made something stir inside Bucky. Clint was angry on his behalf. He was used to Steve's protective fury, but he'd known Steve for forever. And Sam...well Sam had piggy-backed on Steve’s feelings. Not to mention the fact that he was an all around solidly decent guy that was just the type to jump to the defense of anyone that needed it.

“No, no – well, not really? I do think the move was a coincidence. He was a controlling bastard and he did follow me around and kept tabs on me during the relationship, but he didn't follow me here. We didn't really start anything relationship-wise until we'd both been here a while. He seemed...intense, sure, but I didn't realize...

“It was little things at first, texts checking up on me, making sure he was always there when I left work.”

“Made it easy to believe he was just being attentive?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded. “I guess I never realized how that was escalating...but I was realizing other things. He made comments about me getting my arm. Couched it as me not 'embracing my new self-image.' Of course he also turned around and then made comments about my scars...”

He talked about the verbal abuse, the emotional abuse, how that had hurt every bit as much as any physical abuse (which Rumlow had completely avoided – his control and need to harm was couched entirely on Bucky's mind and emotions) would have. How it still lingered in some ways today.

“Towards the end he wouldn't really sleep with me anymore...but by that point I wasn't too interested in sex anymore anyway.”

Somewhere along the way Clint had gotten off his chair and moved it so he was directly next to Bucky. His posture had remained open, not pulling Bucky into an embrace, but readily giving it when Bucky leaned in, his voice a soft comforting murmur as his hands stroked over Bucky's arms.

“I know we talked a lot about sex, teased a lot about it too, but I want you to know we don't have to do anything tonight, okay?” Clint eased back from how he was holding Bucky to ensure they made eye-contact. “We don't have to do anything until you are 110 percent ready to do it. Until the words come from you. And if you change your mind we'll stop. I mean it. You and me – I want nothing but good memories. You said you'd wait to date me, and I'm going to wait to make love with you as long as it takes.”

It always seemed a little silly in books and films when Character A thought about the exact moment they fell in love with Character B. It was too precise. Too perfect for something as beautifully messy and complicated as love. Falling in love was a process and while Bucky had been well on his way through that process he suddenly knew, with a clarity that shook him, that he loved Clint. Gorgeous, wonderful, insanely compassionate, Clint. He finally had His Moment.

Of course, knowing it and being at the point he was willing to say it, were two different things; so he simply leaned in close, pressing a sweet kiss to Clint's lips. “Thank you,” he breathed, keeping their foreheads pressed together.

 

 

~~

 

 

After dinner they settled in more comfortably on the couch, Clint wedging himself into the corner and spreading out so Bucky could settle half against, half on top of him. They opted to watch something light that they both had seen, the Star Trek reboot did nicely, neither of them wanting to really have to focus too hard nor deal with any extra emotions. They'd had enough of that already. 

In other circumstances Bucky probably could have easily found himself dozing off, lulled by the warmth of Clint behind him, the steady puff of his breath against his hair, the occasional sweet kisses he pressed against his head. It certainly had served to put him into a warm and hazy mood at least, but he was not at all tired. They seemed to be taking turns playing lightly with each other’s hands, gentle strokes against palms, soothing swipes from thumbs across knuckles, little massages of their fingers. Eventually Bucky raised Clint's hand to his mouth to press a kiss to his knuckles, then tilted his head to catch his gaze and smile as Clint twisted his wrist and returned the kiss in kind. 

He was falling so hard for this man it should be terrifying. Instead, it left him feeling complete in a way he hadn't in a long time.

Some time after the first movie had finished and they'd begun the second in the series, Bucky tilted his head to nuzzle against Clint's neck. “You always smell so fucking good,” he murmured as he shifted to better chase the scent, Clint's chuckle reverberating against his back. Nuzzling soon turned to pressing a few light kisses to the join of his shoulder and neck, and Bucky smiled against Clint's skin when he caught the hitch in his breathing. Another shift and he was at the perfect angle to capture his lips in a kiss.

Kissing Clint had very quickly become one of Bucky's favorite things in the world, and he would be perfectly content to do it for hours on end if given the choice. And they did kiss for quite some time. There was something exciting about making out on the couch like a pair of teenagers even if neither of them was as desperate as they would have been at that age. The slow and steady build of arousal sneaking up on them as they kissed and kissed and kissed.

“Your ass looks amazing in these jeans,” Clint said, giving Bucky a very firm squeeze.

“Sam talked me into them,” he muttered against Clint's neck, mouthing his way down to his collar.

“Remind me to buy that man some flowers,” Clint replied, tilting his head to give Bucky greater access while pulling his shirt from his pants to rest his palms against the hot skin of Bucky's lower back. “Have I ever, nuugh.” Bucky licked a stripe up his throat. “Have I ever mentioned my ears are really fucking sensitive?”

Bucky lips twisted into a smirk. Clint had one hand sneaking into the back of his pants to stroke along his ass, and, as Clint had once said, turnabout was fair play, so he leaned down again and ran his tongue carefully along the shell of Clint's ear, the resulting moan going to straight to his groin. He did it again and helplessly pressed his hips against Clint's as the moan turned into a whine and Clint's hands squeezed against him.

“Bucky, please...” The kissing turned more desperate then, their hands pulling clothing loose to get at skin. 

Despite the heaviness of the conversation earlier, the only thing Bucky could think about was getting his hands on more of Clint’s skin. How he could coax more delicious sounds out of him. 

Clint's legs had fallen open to better cradle Bucky against him, and he seemed unaware of the fact that he was pressing up against Bucky again and again (granted, Bucky was more than happily grinding down on him in return). “I want you to fuck me so much,” he muttered against Bucky's neck, scraping his teeth lightly over the skin. A bolt of heat shot through Bucky making him shiver. With deliberate movements he raised his head to look at Clint's face. His pupils were blown with arousal, his lips looked almost bruised from the kissing. Bucky was pretty sure he looked the same to be honest.

“What?”

“Sorry, sorry baby.” Clint stilled his hips and raised a hand to Bucky's face. “We don't... We don't have to do anything tonight.” He pressed a kiss to his lips. “I meant what I said before.”

But oh God, now all Bucky could think about was Clint under him, legs wrapped around his waist and falling apart as Bucky slid into him. Bucky had the feeling he'd be a noisy lover, urging him on with cries and fevered words.

“You want--”

“It's okay.” Clint kissed him again, stroking a thumb across his lips. “Like I said before, we don't have to tonight and if you aren't comfortable when we do get there, I don't mind topping.” 

Reaching down, Bucky ran his hand down Clint's leg to his knee then pulled it up to give himself better leverage as he thrust his hips against him, groaning at how good it felt and at how Clint's eyes fluttered. 

“Wanna fuck you,” he panted against Clint's lips, trying but not really succeeding at kissing him as he thrust against him. “Wanna make you come,” he whined as Clint tangled a hand tightly in his hair to yank him down into a wet kiss.

“Gonna fuck me so hard I can only say your name?” Clint breathed against him, when they broke the kiss. “Fill me up with your cock? Make me come so hard I see stars?”

“Yes,” Bucky cried, thrusting against him. “Yes, yes.” He was shaking a little and Clint instantly stilled under him. Bucky whined in response.

“Hey baby, it's okay, shhh...” His touch on Bucky's back more soothing than arousing. 

Bucky didn't know how to admit, didn't want to admit really, how Rumlow had never let him top and had hated any sort of sex talk. How he'd laughed when Bucky slipped into it and commented that they weren't in a ridiculous porno. Clint didn't seem to have that issue, and his relief had shaken him a little.

“Come to bed with me,” he said, voice hoarse from arousal and emotion.

“Are you sure?” Clint asked, watching Bucky carefully as he stood and made no move to follow him despite the very evident bulge of his erection and how his eyes couldn't help but hone in on Bucky's.

“More than sure,” Bucky replied, tugging Clint to his feet and sweeping his eyes up and down his body. His waistcoat had become unbuttoned during their make-out session and he looked positively debauched. Bucky wanted him so very badly and he was more than a little tired of letting his past get in the way. Maybe it wouldn’t be perfect. Maybe they’d get naked and he’d back out at the last moment, but he was damned if he wasn’t going to try and grab what he wanted. Clint would understand and with that thought, Bucky eased the waistcoat off his body and tossed it onto a chair, then hooked his fingers into Clint's belt loops and tugged. 

Clint grinned and followed him into the bedroom.

 

 

~~

 

 

The click of the door shutting was louder than Bucky was used to, but then again maybe it was the anticipation of what was about to come. “Take off your shirt,” he said, voice low and husky. Clint complied immediately, tossing the tee off to the side with a flick of his wrist – it landed on top of the hamper. 

“Show off,” Bucky grinned, enjoying the play of muscles as Clint laughed and shrugged. There was a giant hawk with outstretched wings, as if it was about to take flight, on his ribcage; one wing swept across his lower chest, the body of the bird curving inches above the cut of his hipbone. He wanted to reach out and touch. Run his fingers along the feathers, see how soft Clint’s skin felt. 

“Can't help it. There's this guy I really wanna impress,” Clint said, as he prowled closer. 

“Pretty sure only an idiot wouldn't be impressed by you,” Bucky said as they drifted together.

“He's no idiot,” Clint smiled against his lips before teasingly brushing them together. “S'one of the smartest guys I know.”

Bucky growled and captured him for a bruising kiss, sliding his palms up and down all the smooth skin on display before him. Clint's hands were busy as well, flipping open the button of Bucky's jeans, sneaking under his shirt to slide up his back, blunt nails scratching lightly. Before long, Clint was stepping out of his own jeans and reaching for the buttons on Bucky's shirt. Bucky's hands reached up to stop him and they shared eye contact for a moment.

“It's...” he sighed. “Rumlow made me wear a shirt when we fucked because of my scars.” The anger that flashed into Clint's eyes was so strange compared to the arousal. Bucky decided it was probably a good thing to not admit Rumlow would take him from behind most of the time so he “didn't have to look at them.”

“That son of a bitch is going to be lucky if I only punch him if I ever run into him,” he said fiercely, before switching gears back and pressing a quick kiss to Bucky's mouth. “Do you want to keep your shirt on this time? Will it make you more comfortable? I don't...” Clint pressed another quick kiss to his lips. “I want to see you. All of you. But not if you're not comfortable.”

“Not really...” Bucky wanted to feel the press of Clint's body against him. Wear any marks he might make like the badge of honor they would be. 

“Okay then.” Another gentle kiss and Clint's hands began to carefully work their way down Bucky's chest, sneaking a touch, a caress, as they opened his shirt button by button. Bucky's breathing was a little heavy by the time Clint slid his hands onto his shoulders under the shirt, and it wasn't entirely from being turned on. 

“You ready?” Bucky nodded and Clint smoothed his palms back to curl around the balls of each shoulder, the shirt fluttering down his arms to pool on the ground. Clint leaned back a little, eyes sweeping down Bucky's chest and a look of adoration slowly taking over his expression. “So fucking beautiful.”

Bucky felt the heat of a blush on his already warm face.

“Can I touch you?” Clint asked softly.

“Yes.” The fact that he asked, that he made it sound like it was a privilege to be able to do it, had Bucky on the verge of tears. He closed his eyes and waited, a soft sigh escaping at the first light touch over and around the worst of the scarring. The careful attention given to where the join for his arm was. A tear might have escaped with the first tentative press of lips against a scar, when Clint murmured about how beautiful he was, how lucky he felt that Bucky wanted him, and how he would cherish Bucky and give him everything he could in between kisses against his skin.

Bucky was laughing and even crying a little from the complex swirl of emotions he was feeling by the time he pulled Clint back up to kiss him long and hard. “You are so fucking unreal.” 

In no time at all they divested each other of the rest of their clothes and tumbled onto the bed.

Clint opened beautifully for his slicked up fingers, moaning and urging Bucky for more, faster, he didn't want any prep, just Bucky. But Bucky liked to be thorough and as Clint squirmed and gasped, he whispered a reminder that he'd promised to make him see stars. 

They both groaned when he finally slid home, the intense heat of Clint making Bucky's arms shake as he held himself back from just taking. “You feel so good...” Then slowly he began thrusting, grunting with the effort and thrilling as Clint cried out when he hit his prostate. “So, so good, so tight... It's been so long...” Bucky knew he was babbling, but Clint didn't seem to care, wrapping his legs around him and urging him on. There was a time not all that long ago where Bucky would have probably have been embarrassed by the noises he was making, how he was giving himself over so freely to his feelings and the sensations – chasing after that delicious shimmer and pool of heat that signaled his orgasm was close.

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky,” Clint chanted, “Bucky, please,” his voice broke on a whine as Bucky slipped a hand between them to grab his cock. “So close, not gonna last.”

“Come for me Clint, please come.” He snapped his hips a little harder and twisted his hand around the head of Clint’s cock until Clint suddenly stiffened and came with a shout. 

Bucky stilled and coaxed Clint through his aftershocks until he sagged underneath him. Once Clint came back to himself, he glanced up with a look both smug and sated. “Come for me, baby.” He lifted his hips a little and Bucky's arms vibrated with the tension it took not to fuck himself into Clint. “C'mon. Take what you need. Anything you need.” And that's what did him in. He hitched Clint's legs up and bent him almost double, his hips moving in a punishing rhythm as Clint kept urging him on, telling him how beautiful he looked, how he couldn't wait to see him blissed out – and then, with a stutter and moan, he came, Clint carefully holding him through his own aftershocks. He pressed kisses to Bucky's face and chest after untangling himself and helping Bucky crash to his side in a sated heap.

Bucky was still floating on his orgasm high when he felt another kiss, and then the bed dipped and Clint stepped away. He returned a moment later with a warm wet cloth and gently cleaned Bucky, then himself, before settling in beside him again. 

“I dunno if I can move my arms,” Bucky finally said with a laugh, turning onto his side to better look at Clint. “Oh hey, they still work,” he said, reaching out to cup the side of Clint's face and leaning in to kiss him sweetly.

“Mmm... So, uh...” Clint swallowed lightly and captured Bucky's hand in one of his. “Horn dog reaction is – if that's how good it is when we're both out of practice, imagine how incapacitated we'll be after we get some good practice in.” They both giggled, punch drunk. 

“Sappy reaction...” He curled a finger under Bucky's chin and passed his thumb over his lips. “I wanna wake up next to you in the morning and kiss the sleep from your eyes. I want to make you breakfast and remind you how amazing you are every minute of every day I can afterwards.” 

Bucky's heart thumped happily in his chest and his stomach glowed with warmth. He felt like the luckiest man on the planet. 

“I want that too.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> re: Rumlow's abusive nature, he would make snide comments about Bucky's scars and arm and would only have penetrative sex with him from behind. He was also always keeping tabs on Bucky in another attempt at controlling him.
> 
> On a less shitty note - for those curious about the flowers:  
> Morning Glory- Affection  
> Yellow Rose – Joy, friendship, promise of new beginning  
> Red Chrysanthemum- A symbol of love


	12. Chapter 12

 

 

 

Bucky awoke the following morning to the comfortable weight of Clint's arm around his chest and the feel of his lips brushing lightly against his back. It was a good thing his AC was going or they'd both be sweating up a storm with the way Clint had octopused himself around him. Then again, he wasn't sure he'd mind all that much at the moment if they were. Bucky glanced down at Clint’s hand and lightly ran his fingers over Clint’s fingers first, then onto the corded muscles of his arm. He was rewarded with muttered sounds and the arm flexing a little more tightly around him. Yet more tickling got him additional sounds and a full press of lips upon his back.

“M'awake, but at what cost?” Clint muttered as he kissed his way up to Bucky's ear. “You a morning person, Barnes? 'Cause Imma need some incentive to be perky if you are,” he breathed into the shell of Bucky’s ear. 

The semi growing against the cleft of his ass begged to differ, and Bucky quickly turned over to slip a hand down to give Clint a teasing stroke, smiling at the groan it elicited. “I dunno, parts of you seem to be perking up.”

“Not playing fair,” Clint murmured against his lips, capturing them in a heated kiss, morning breath be damned. 

They became so lost in the back and forth of it that Bucky didn't hear or feel when Pickles jumped on the bed and crept up to the pillow. It was only when Clint pulled back with a surprised noise and Bucky opened his eyes that he finally realized the bit of fluff tickling his forehead wasn't Clint's bangs, but the cat's fur. 

“Um...” Clint's eyes did their best to glance upwards where the little cat was happily washing his forehead. 

“Yeah, she's grooming you,” Bucky confirmed, shifting a little to make sure Clint could read his lips better. 

“Feels a little like sandpaper...”

“Yup. If she's not careful, you'll basically get the kitty-tongue version of beard-burn too.”

“Great,” Clint chuckled, eyes going funny again as he tried to take another look at the cat. “Guess she likes me?” He reached a tentative hand up to rest against her slight body, a look of wonder in his eyes. “She's purring...I thought I could feel it before, but I wasn't sure.” 

“Yeah, she likes you. Just like her human does.” He tried to ignore the sappy smile breaking onto his face, to no avail. At least Clint was sporting one too.

“Pickles, sweetie? I'm kissing Clint right now, okay? Me. My boyfriend.” She paused in her grooming, eyes slitted in contentment, purring away like crazy. “You can kiss him later?” At that, she leaned in to lick Bucky's nose, then returned to grooming Clint's forehead. “Okay then,” he muttered as Clint laughed.

“Boyfriend, huh?” Clint's smile made Bucky's heart do a funny little thump.

“Boyfriend,” he confirmed, and the kiss they shared automatically to seal the deal caused Pickles to meow in a scolding manner. 

“Don't _aaannnw_ me, Fuzz Face. C'mon, let’s get you some breakfast.” He scooped the cat up to only a few additional protests (and more than a little laughter on Clint's part), and slipped out of bed. Clint wolf-whistled when he reached the door and Bucky turned around, intending to cock an eyebrow and give him an unimpressed look. His mouth, however, went dry and while the eyebrow cooperated, he was pretty sure his face was more gobsmacked than unimpressed. 

“Would you believe me if I said it wasn't me?” Clint asked, spread out on the bed with his hands nonchalantly behind his head. 

God, he was so fucking gorgeous.

“I'd say that would be a shame because I think whoever it was that whistled is going to get lucky pretty soon, so...” he smirked, hoping that his expression and body language conveyed anything that Clint might not have been able to parse, as he turned his back and exited the bedroom.

“You've got one hell of a fantastic ass, Barnes!” he heard Clint yell out as he made his way into the kitchen to grab the cat food.

“Good thing the walls are soundproofed, huh?” he asked Pickles as he dished up her breakfast. He then pressed a kiss to her forehead, set her down to eat, and high-tailed it back to the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind him as he did. She'd make a fuss when she noticed, but hopefully they'd be done by then.

“Maybe you should put a sock on the door next time?” Clint joked. He was sitting up now, and had put his hearing aids back in. 

“On the one hand, it would give her something to play with,” Bucky mused as he climbed back into bed. “On the other hand, giving her a tool might accelerate her eventual ability to open doors.” Clint gave him a bemused look. “It's only a matter of time, trust me.”

“I suppose then I welcome my eventual feline overlord,” Clint said and Bucky smiled against the skin of his shoulder where he was pressing lazy kisses, inching ever closer to the bold black lines on Clint’s back.

“You know, that first time we met, when you took me upstairs?” Clint made a noise of affirmation. “I took a liking to one of those black and white photos decorating the place.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah...” Bucky pressed another kiss to Clint's shoulder blade, then ran a finger along the lines of the exquisite recurve that stretched along his upper back. “Guess I don't have to ask Coulson if he has any prints now.” Clint barked out a bright and happy laugh.

“I'll pose for any photo you want, baby.”

“They won't stand up to the original, but I can live with that.” Maybe a shot that captured a hint of the swell of his ass... They traded a few light kisses, but the urgency from before had faded and neither seemed to be ready to step it up again yet.

“I got that one in the circus, actually,” Clint said, unprompted, when he pulled out of their latest kiss. Bucky pulled back a little, but kept his hand on Clint's side where he'd been steadying himself. 

“Yeah?” he said carefully. They'd talked about a lot of stuff while Bucky'd been getting his sleeve done. And things had gotten a little personal, especially in the last two sessions and then during their subsequent dates. Bucky knew Clint had spent some time with the circus, that he'd learned both his beloved archery and his initial tattoo skills there. And that it hadn't ended well and Clint rarely liked to talk about it.

“Yeah...” Clint shrugged and tangled his hand with Bucky's free one. “Sarah, the woman that taught me about tattooing in the first place, did it. I desperately wanted a bow like that and obviously it's not like a circus brat has any money, so she gave me the next best thing she could. Phil's had to do a few touch-ups since then.” He shrugged. “It's the only tattoo I'll never change or cover from that period of my life.”

“Thank you for sharing that.” Clint gave him a little self-deprecating smile in return and Bucky pressed a kiss to his lips to drive his point home. Tattoos were always a personal thing, and given how Clint didn't like sharing about that time in his life it was all the more meaningful that he had.

From there Clint shared a few more tales about his ink. At least, the most important ones. The 'out of order' and 'muted volume' behind his ears Bucky already knew about of course, but he learned that Darcy had also inked the chemical composition of caffeine on his ankle because of their shared love of the legal drug and the joke that it “gave a good solid foundation.” 

The traditional anchor on his upper left arm was the first ink he'd gotten from Phil – who had been Clint's rock from the moment they'd met. He kept him grounded and had given him a home. “He saved my life just as much as I saved his, and I don't just mean taking me to the hospital after that night in the alley.”

The purple, blue, and gold Chinese Lions on his calves were from Jasper and owed themselves to Clint's penchant for being a protector. Now that he knew how Clint and Natasha had met, they made all the more sense.

Clint wouldn't tell him who gave him the hawk on his rib cage, “Long story,” but he did admit it was a symbol of freedom. “Kinda hoping I can get a pilot license some day. I'd love to be able to fly.”

The abstract design reminiscent of Kandinsky's works on Clint's left shin had come from Natasha. “Well, she drew it and I inked it. I mean, I'll let her stick needles in me and give me metal souvenirs, but I needed something from her in my skin, you know?” He glossed over, and Bucky didn't press, how it also covered a few tattoos from his time in the circus. 

“Pretty sure Daisy's is gonna go somewhere on my upper chest. She has this great little toon of some coffee beans with cheerful faces and the text ‘We own you’ around them. It's awesome.”

He and Wanda hadn't come up with a design yet, but it had been agreed upon that he would be second in line only to Pietro when it came time for her to tattoo people.

“And then this one, this one is fairly new,” he let go of Bucky's hand to turn his back to him and tap at his upper back where a compass with one arm elongated into an arrow sat in the middle of the bow, almost like it was ready to be strung and shot. “Phil did that a few weeks ago now. It's um...it's...” his voice faltered a little. “It's because I met this fucking amazing man who is so beautiful in body and spirit and he just...” Clint's voice was so very quiet but full of confidence as he finished with: “I felt the axis of my world shift and tilt. He sent me off in a new direction.”

Bucky's face was burning and his heart pounding by the time he spun Clint around to face him. “How the fuck are you even real?” he managed to sputter, cupping Clint's face in his hands. He'd changed Clint's life? That was just impossible...

“Think I asked you that first a few weeks ago,” Clint smirked in reply before Bucky crushed their mouths together in a brutal all-consuming kiss. And then there was nothing but heat and friction, their joined hands working in tandem at a quick pace. He buried his head against Clint's neck as he came, then lifted it before he even really caught his breath to nibble on Clint's earlobe until he cursed and spilled between their bodies as well. 

They fell apart, panting harshly and staring up at the ceiling. 

“I guess you like the tattoo, huh?” Clint asked eventually, when the sweat was cooling and Bucky was starting to feel a little sticky. And suddenly, with those words, they were both roaring with laughter. Laughter that somehow managed to increase when the rattle of the doorknob and sounds of perturbed and insistent meowing reached their ears.

 

 

 


	13. Epilogue

 

 

 

Clint had been off at a convention for the weekend and fairly miserable to be away from Bucky if the Skype calls were anything to go by. It probably didn't help that he'd also been roped into doing a guest artist stint for a few days at a friend’s shop, extending his time away to a full week. Bucky missed him like crazy as well, but was glad to have the time to plan his surprise better.

When Clint arrived home early Wednesday evening, they didn't even manage dinner before they were off to the bedroom to reconnect, their love making long, slow, and lingering.

The following morning Bucky woke slowly, his limbs heavy and body sated. It took a moment for him to become aware of his surroundings; it had been years since he could sleep like that and it was something else he had regained by being with Clint. Once he was, he smiled sleepily and propped his head on his arms.

“Morning, sweetheart.” He wasn't too bothered by the fact Clint didn't reply and a quick glance over to the bureau confirmed his lover had not put his hearing aids in after he had awoken and situated Bucky on his stomach. Clint was painting, using Bucky as his canvas. It was a quirk he'd found out about maybe a month into their relationship. Clint could be restless at times and would be up in the night to draw or paint as a way to work through what was bothering him. He also enjoyed drawing and painting on himself and others in the shop when they allowed it. Eventually he'd shyly asked if Bucky would mind – and he'd agreed wholeheartedly. 

Bucky closed his eyes again, not to fall asleep, but to better focus on the feeling of the paintbrushes over his skin. Clint often told Bucky he was beautiful, and he never felt that way more than when Clint was painting on him. He'd swiftly become Clint's favorite canvas (“You center me...make me happy...you've given me a home.”) 

With deliberate movements, Bucky untangled one hand to casually flick an “I love you” sign over his shoulder. He loved using sign, though he was nowhere near as good at it as he wanted to be. Sometimes Clint would respond, sometimes he'd be too wrapped up in his art. He didn't have to wait for long though before there was shifting and Clint's beloved face came into view.

“Morning, baby.” He pressed their lips together in a lingering kiss. “Love you too.”

Unsure if he could shift much, Bucky pointed to Clint and then raised an eyebrow and pointed towards his back. “You good?”

“Better now,” Clint smiled. “You can move, I just finished.”

Bucky stretched and carefully moved into a sitting position. “Is it something I can see?” Clint didn't always want him to see the art or words he'd put on Bucky's back, and he was surprisingly okay with that. He knew that they were sometimes Clint's way to work through things, personal in a way that, despite his love for Bucky, he wasn't sure he wasn't always ready for him to see. The times he said no were becoming fewer and further between though.

“If you want,” Clint said and signed both, a shy smile on his lips that Bucky couldn't help but lean in and press a kiss to before sliding out of bed and padding into the bathroom. 

Bucky turned to the side and craned his neck to take in the image Clint had painted. It was a phoenix, heavily detailed and bold against the paleness of his skin. Rebirth. Renewal. Hope. His lips slid into a smirk when the sound of a camera went off behind him as Clint followed him into the bathroom to capture the image for posterity.

“It's a good one,” Bucky acknowledged, turning to press against Clint after he set down the camera. 

“Still not perfect enough though,” Clint replied, walking him backwards towards the shower where the paint would swirl around their feet as they lazily made out, the canvas renewing itself.

 

 

~~

 

 

They had a leisurely breakfast then lazed around the apartment for the rest of the morning in a pile of human and animal limbs on the couch as Lucky and Pickles both felt the need to welcome Clint back by climbing all over him the second the bedroom door had opened. (They counted themselves lucky that there hadn't been a background chorus of meowing and barking when they'd been making love the night before.)

They went out to Another! for lunch, Thor welcoming them with the same good spirits he always did. 

It was after that that Bucky implemented his plan. Wanda met them at the diner and, after a lingering goodbye kiss and another backwards walking scene, whisked Clint away to Midtown for a movie and a little shopping. Bucky, meanwhile, made his way over to Delta. 

He knew Clint, like many tattoo artists (or at least the ones he'd come to know in the past year) was weird about inking names. The prevalent attitude was that it was a bad luck curse. “I've never seen a relationship last when one or both have gotten names done,” Jasper had intoned sagely. 

Bucky had for a time felt that just wearing Clint's art would be enough. He was already under his skin and always would be. But he was finding that that wasn't enough for some reason. He wanted more. Something that branded him as being Clint's forever. Something that Clint could _see_ so he would know it too, feel it in his soul the way Bucky did.

Perhaps it was a little strange given how one of the many bad points in his relationship with Rumlow had been the man's controlling nature, but Clint didn't try to control him and Bucky was his in a way he'd never been Rumlow's. 

Darcy greeted him at the counter and led him down the stairs to the familiar studio. Without a word she pulled out a screen so her station, at the front of the room next to Clint's, was walled off from the rest of the studio for more privacy. As Bucky removed his shirt, he couldn't help but marvel at the fact that a year ago he would not have been comfortable enough to allow Darcy to see him shirtless. 

The entire process was basically the same as when Clint tattooed him, albeit with less flirting (Darcy was a natural flirt herself and it was a great way to pass the time as she worked so there still was _some_.) She was swift and efficient and finished in no time, bandaging him up and sending him off with a grin and a “Go get 'em tiger!”

__

 

 

~~

 

 

Bucky probably shouldn't have been surprised that Clint noticed something was up as soon as they embraced when he got home. He'd been careful to hold himself the same as he always did and not flinch at all when they touched, but perhaps Clint felt the bandage through both their shirts? Either way, his expression was quizzical when they pulled apart and his hand raised to skim the edge of the bandage.

“Everything good, baby?”

“Yup,” Bucky smiled in reply. He raised Clint's hand from his chest to his lips to press a kiss to the back of it. Then he stepped back, tugging gently and walking backwards until they made it to the small table upon which were candles and the nice set of dishes Rebecca had gotten them for Christmas. “Happy Anniversary, darling,” Bucky said with a soft smile.

Clint's expression went from gently amused to a little unsure. “Anniversary...?”

Bucky laughed because yeah – it wasn't exactly a normal one. “Of the day we met.” As always, the smile that took over Clint's face made his breath catch. He'd never, ever, tire of making him look like that.

“I'd tease you for being sappy, but I fucking love it and am a little jealous I didn't think to do something,” Clint replied, pressing a quick kiss to Bucky's lips as he tangled their hands together between them.

“Worth some boyfriend points?” Bucky teased.

“So many boyfriend points,” Clint replied.

Ideally, Bucky would have liked to cook a special meal himself. Logistically he didn't have the time for it, so takeout from one of their favorites it was. Of course, when he expressed the sentiment Clint assured him PBJ's and milk would have been more than acceptable.

“So uh...where are the kids?” Clint asked as they cleared away the dishes. Normally one or both (probably both) of their pets would have seen fit to join the date by now.

“They're with Aunts Natasha and Maria,” Bucky replied, pulling Clint close so he could wrap his arms around him and sway to the music he'd turned on earlier. Clint laughed into the embrace and comfortably settled himself against Bucky.

“Bet Liho is thrilled,” he joked before nuzzling against Bucky's ear. They wouldn't win any points for form and despite their love of dancing, they were really just sharing space and swaying a little, but it was good. Comfortable. Bucky couldn't recall the last time he felt so content just to _be_.

“So, m'trying not to be jealous 'bout you lettin' someone else ink you, 'cause I know you've got a good reason, but that just means 'm dying of curiosity over here,” Clint said eventually, his words tickling Bucky's ear as his lips brushed against it while he spoke. 

It was a little distracting.

“What makes you think I got another tattoo?” Bucky tried for coy. The smirk Clint replied with when he leaned back to meet his eyes made him figure he probably missed by a mile.

“You're cute,” Clint pronounced with a kiss and Bucky couldn't help but smile in reply. “Which one of the miscreants I work with did it?” Bucky's grin turned playful and he shook his head. “Jasper's shit at keeping that type of secret. Was it Phil?”

Bucky pressed a quick kiss to Clint's lips. “I'm not telling.”

“Did you cheat on the shop as a whole?” Clint persisted, mock outrage in his voice. It was a testament to the strength of their relationship and how much he'd recovered that Bucky didn't even think twice about the turn of phrase. “C'mon baby, please?” Clint whined, trying to catch Bucky for a kiss.

“No pouting and no sexy business as a distraction,” Bucky said with a firm nod. Clint pouted anyway and Bucky kissed the tip of his nose. “Pick out a movie, I'm going to use the bathroom.” He retreated to the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt as soon as he was out of Clint's sight line. The nerves finally did hit him as he faced himself in the mirror.

'Clint will like it,' he reminded himself as he washed his hands. 'And even if he doesn't love the tattoo itself he will LOVE that you did it for him.'

“It'll be okay,” he muttered as he carefully removed the bandage and gently cleaned the fresh tattoo. It felt strange to immediately cover it back up with sterile gauze, but he knew he wouldn't have it on for that long. A curious Clint was difficult to shake. 

Soon enough he finished up, slipped his shirt back on, and buttoned it back up as he made his way back to the living room where Clint was stretched out and waiting for him on the couch. Bucky settled against him, leaned into the kiss that was pressed against his temple and placed his hand over Clint's on his stomach. In no time, of course, the fingers of Clint's free hand had managed to slip in between the buttons of his shirt to stroke against Bucky's bare skin. It wasn't designed to excite (not at first anyway) but was more a grounding gesture for the both of them. Bucky instantly felt the tension melt from his body and Clint murmured something nonsensical against his hair.

They got about ten minutes into the movie before Bucky asked, “Do you wanna see it?”

“I can be patient,” Clint replied.

“Sure you can,” Bucky replied, turning his head to press a kiss to Clint's neck. He was only partially teasing, Clint really did have more than enough patience most of the time...and then seemed to make up for it with a severe lack at others.

“Yes. I'd love to see it.” Clint replied with a smile. “You washed it?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, sitting up then turning to help Clint lever himself up to sit next to him.

“Hey,” Clint said, raising a hand to his chest.

“Hi,” he replied automatically. Clint brought their lips together in a soft lingering kiss, then pressed his forehead to Bucky's and unbuttoned his shirt, slipping it off. As he did every time he undressed him, Clint brushed his lips against one of Bucky's scars and looked at him with such love and devotion that Bucky had to blink back tears. 

“I'll go wash my hands,” Clint said and Bucky's heart thumped an extra beat at how excited he looked when he returned. “Do you have the...?” 

Bucky pulled the tube of Aquaphor from his pocket. Then smirked and pulled a tube of lube from his other one.

“Oh – well, then,” Clint laughed and waggled his eyebrows. “Someone's got some plans.”

“Nothing wrong with being prepared.”

Clint smiled again and brushed his fingers lightly against Bucky's chest. “Ready?” Bucky nodded and tried not to tense as Clint carefully peeled off the tape and gauze. He held his breath a moment when Clint set the gauze off to the side and just...stared. It was the hawk from Clint's logo, sans the ‘Hawkeye’ script and clutching a bow in his talons rather than arrows. 

“It's uh – I know you've got a thing about names as tattoos and all, but I wanted...” Bucky swallowed heavily. “I'm yours Clint. Always will be.”

“I...” Clint's throat bobbed and he blinked rapidly, eyes glistening. “You...” He closed his eyes and held his palm over the tattoo, careful not to touch it directly. When he reopened his eyes a few tears escaped and his voice was thick when he asked, “You did this for me?” The confused wonder in his eyes made Bucky's heart ache. Sometimes he forgot Clint could be just as unsure and skittish as Bucky himself was.

“Yeah, darling,” Bucky replied, cupping the side of Clint's face and thumbing away a tear. His own smile was a little watery and he really didn't care. “For you. I love you.” He never tired of saying that, or seeing Clint's reaction to it.

“I love you too. So fucking much.” The kiss was an inelegant press of lips and tasted of the salt from their mixed tears. “I love you. I love you. I love you,” Clint whispered in between kisses, one hand tightening almost painfully in Bucky's hair, the other moving restlessly against his chest as he unconsciously signed the phrase in an echo.

“I love you,” Bucky repeated again,signing it as well as soon as Clint leaned back enough for his hands to become free. “I love you.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Because I am _that_ nerd I created a pinboard of inspiration for this fic. I have since curated it into a more cohesive and concise collection and, if you're curious, you can take a look [here.](https://www.pinterest.com/hpharing/indelible/)
> 
> If there is enough interest, or if I ever get around to it, I may post additional things for this universe. Initially it was supposed to alternate pov between Bucky and Clint but it grew too large too quickly. Still, I figure those Clint scenes could be a fun extra sometime. 
> 
> Come find me at [redsector-a](http://redsector-a.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Flaws: A Fanmix for Indelible](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8286890) by [sperrywink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sperrywink/pseuds/sperrywink)




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